THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


1 


October  to  October, 


1870-1871. 


BY 


LUCY  CATLIN  BULL, 


(BoBJi  APEIL  18,  1861.) 


HARTFORD,    CONN. 


1  gut  Utarg  lupt  all  t^tst  tlntigs,  anb  ponbmb  t^tm  in 


^ARTFORD : 
CASE,  LOCKWOOD  &  BRAINARD. 

1872. 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1872, 

BY  JOHN  C.  BULL, 
in  the  office  of  the  Librarian  of  Congress  at  Washington. 


NEW  YORK,  Oct.  6,  1871. 

I  have  looked  over  the  poems  of  Lucy  C.  Bull,  of  Hart 
ford,  shown  to  me  in  manuscript.  They  seem  to  me  most 
extraordinary  for  one  so  young,  that  is  to  say,  of  nine  or 
ten  years  of  age.  They  show  a  prodigious  command  of 
language  considering  her  time  of  life,  great  ease  of  con 
struction,  an  accurate  ear  for  poetic  numbers,  and  facility 
in  the  use  of  imagery  not  copied  from  books,  but  derived 
immediately  from  nature.  I  do  not  think  I  have  seen  any 
thing  produced  at  the  same  age  at  all  comparable  to  them. 
WILLIAM  CDLLEN  BRYANT. 


626061 


f 


FACE 


IT  is  thought  best  to  print  this  private  edition  of  a  child's 
first  poems  for  two  reasons.  First,  to  save  the  labor  of  supply 
ing  the  large  number  of  manuscript  copies  desired  by  friends  ; 
and  secondly,  to  collect  the  poems  themselves  in  a  secure  and 
more  permanent  form. 

In  doing  this  it  is  most  earnestly  desired  that  no  more  pub 
licity  may  be  given  to  the  verses  and  their  author  than  must 
necessarily  accompany  a  book  privately  printed. 

The  arrangement  of  the  book  is  simply  in  the  order  of  the 
composition  ;  the  object  being  to  give  a  year's  history  of  the 
working  of  the  child's  mind,  as  shown  by  her  writings,  rather 
than  a  volume  of  perfect  poetry.  For  this  reason,  and  for  other 
obvious  ones,  no  suggestions,  corrections,  or  alterations  have 
been  made  in  any  case.  From  title  to  end  every  poem  is  wholly 
original,  and,  with  but  few  exceptions,  they  were  withheld  from 
parents  and  friends  until  completed. 

As  the  little  book  will  meet  the  eyes  of  many  who  do  not 
know  the  author,  it  may  be  proper  to  say  a  few  words  with 
regard  to  her. 
1* 


From  early  childhood  she  has  been  keenly  alive  to  impres 
sions  of  grace  and  beauty,  and  her  writing  is  a  natural  out 
pouring  rather  than  a  mental  labor.  Her  health,  so  far  from 
deteriorating,  has  steadily  improved  since  this  gift  was  devel 
oped.  She  has  a  strong  and  healthy  inclination  to  all  childish 
and  even  boisterous  sports ;  great  delight  in  the  companion 
ship  of  little  children  ;  and  an  even  temperament,  not  subject 
to  great  exaltations  or  depressions.  In  a  word,  she  is  neither 
morbid  nor  precocious. 

Fearing  injury  to  her  health,  great  care  has  been  taken  to 
avoid  suggestion  or  pressure  in  the  matter  of  her  writing  and 
reading  ;  careful  guiding  of  the  latter  being  the  only  course 
adopted,  and  a  holding  back  in  study,  writing  and  reading,  so 
far  as  it  could  be  done  without  arousing  opposition  and  pro 
ducing  unhappiness :  it  being  evidently  the  wiser  course  to 
surround  her  with  pleasures  and  occupations  that  unconsciously 
to  herself  would  in  great  measure  take  the  place  of  mental 
work. 

The  "  guiding  of  her  reading  "  has  consisted  chiefly  in  with 
holding  those  books  which  in  style  or  matter  might  have  an 
injurious  influence.  Her  own  choice  led  her  to  make  constant 
companions  of  Shakspeare  and  Milton,  Scott's  poems,  and  the 
Pilgrim's  Progress,  at  so  early  an  age  as  to  surprise  her  parents. 
Later  she  became  fond  of  Wordsworth,  Tennyson  and  Bryant, 
and  of  her  own  accord  took  up  Spenser's  Faerie  Queen  with 
great  delight. 


At  the  age  of  nine  years  and  a  half  she  began  her  first  regu 
lar  attendance  at  school,  a  private  seminary  holding  only  a 
morning  session.  She  had  long  been  in  the  habit  of  writing  or 
dictating  little  stories  in  prose,  but  at  this  time  she  remarked 
to  her  mother,  "  I  am  going  to  write  some  poetry."  "  The 
Wildwood  "  was  the  result  of  this  first  attempt,  and  was  imme 
diately  re-written,  and  no  one  was  permitted  to  see  it  until 
some  three  months  afterwards,  when  "  The  Country  School- 
House  "  and  "  Santa  Glaus'  Visit "  had  been  written ;  the 
pleasure  which  these  pieces  gave  her  parents  making  her  wil 
ling  to  show  them  her  first  effort. 

From  this  beginning  she  wrote  almost  daily,  often  having 
several  pieces  in  her  mind  at  once,  but  never  being  allowed  to 
write  after  dark.  In  reply  to  expressions  of  anxiety  lest  so 
much  writing  should  injure  her  health,  she  exclaimed,  "  They 
come  to  me,  I  must  write  them  ;  it  is  very  easy,  any  one  could 
do  it  if  they  would  only  think  so."  "  Toots's  Lament  "  was  in 
spired  by  hearing  only  that  portion  of  Dombey  and  Son  read 
aloud  ;  but  both  renderings  were  very  unsatisfactory  to  herself. 
The  lines  "  On  the  Birthday  of  a  Little  Child  "  were  found  by 
the  servant  hidden  away  under  an  oilcloth.  Sorrow  for  the 
loss  of  her  life-long  companion,  produced  the  lines  to  Fido.  A 
friend  visiting  her  mother,  and  drawing  the  contrast  between 
her  two  nieces,  unconsciously  suggested  "  Mabel's  Good  Be 
havior." 


One  Sunday,  being  prevented  attending  church,  she  said  to 
her  mother,  "  I  do  not  mean  to  write  poetry  on  Sunday,  but  I 
have  a  piece  in  my  head,  and  I  cannot  rest  until  it  is  out ;  do 
you  think  it  would  be  wrong  for  me  to  write  it  down  ?"  This 
single  exception  to  her  rule  was  "  The  Wooing  of  Young  Jock- 
ington."  The  next  afternoon  she  went  out  with  her  sled,  but 
soon  came  in  saying,  '  she  had  so  many  pieces  in  her  mind  she 
could  not  stay  out,  but  it  was  so  late  she  must  choose  the  shortest 
and  easiest.'  The  "  Ode  to  the  Snowflake,"  and  "  Poetry 
Everywhere  "  were  the  result  of  this  choice.  Her  grandfather's 
gift  of  a  pair  of  canaries  occasioned  the  lines  dated  February  3. 
She  said  that  "  The  Resurrection  Hymn  was  composed  while 
swinging  on  a  clothes  line  !"  "  The  Poet's  Dream  "  could  not 
be  finished  '  because  she  had  not  read  the  whole  of  Shakspeare.' 
"  Beautiful  Rain  "  was  written  on  the  piazza  during  a  shower  ; 
"  The  Brook  "  and  "  The  Baby's  Breath,"  on  the  margin  of  a 
newspaper  while  traveling  in  the  cars  ;  "  An  Evening  Land 
scape,"  while  alone  in  the  upper  chamber  of  a  barn  nestled  in 
the  hay,  the  wide  doors  thrown  open  to  the  west.  "  Yanna  " 
and  the  Dramas  were  interspersed  at  intervals  between  the  sixty 

shorter  poems. 

J.  P.  B. 
APRIL,  1872. 


Page. 

The  Wildwood, Written  October,  1870.  9 

The  Wildwood  as  first  written, October,  "  10 

The  Country  School-House, Dec.  17,  "  11 

Santa  Glaus'  Visit, Dec.  20.  "  13 

Mr.  Toots's   Lament  for  Florence, Jan.  11,1871.  16 

Mr.  Toots's  Lament  No.  2, Jan.,  "  17 

On  the  Birthday  of  a  Little  Child, Jan.,  "  18 

Charade— Fido, Jan.,  "  18 

On  the  Death  of  a  Favorite  Dog, Jan.  24,  "  19 

The  Wooing  of  Young  Jockington, Jan.  29,  "  20 

Ode  to  a  Snowflake, Jan.  30,  "  23 

Mabel's  Good  Behavior, Jan.  29,  "  24 

Poetry  Everywhere, Jan.  30,  "  25 

The   Forget-me-not;  A  Tale  of  Germany Feb.    2.  "  26 

Our  Canaries, Feb.    3,  "  29 

The  Old  Lamplighter, Feb.    3.  "  30 

Music, Feb.    3,  "  31 

Charade— Poetry, Feb.,  "  31 

Evening  Lullaby Feb.    4,  "  32 

Valentine  to  Bessie, Feb.  13,  "  33 

Violets, Feb.  17,  "  34 

Evening  at  the  Old  Homestead, Feb.,  "  35 

Under  the  Coverlid ;  or  The  Morning  Frolic, Feb.  27,  "  36 


Vi  CONTENTS. 

Page. 

The  Geranium, Feb.  27, 1871.  37 

The  Rainbow, Feb.  27,     "  38 

The  Firelight;  or  Childhood's  Memories, Feb.  27,     "  39 

Verses  to  Grandpa  on  his  Birthday, Feb.  28,     "  40 

The  Lily  of  the  Valley,  Mch.  1,     "  41 

The  Tale  of  the  Bee, Mch.  1,     "  42 

The  Anemone, Mch.  9,     "  44 

Lines  to  Bessie, Mch.  1,     "  45 

Ode  to  the  Violet, Mch.  9,     "  46 

The  Three  Mothers;  or  The  Patters  of  Little  Feet,. . .  .Mch.  13,  "  47 

May, Mch.  18,  "  49 

The  Soldiers'   Parting, Mch.  20,  "  50 

Ode  to  a  Sunset,  Mch.  20,  "  52 

Odeto  Venus, Mch.  21,  "  53 

Whatlslt? Mch.  27,  "  54 

HastEver? Mch.  30,  "  55 

Address  to  a  Nightingale, April,        "  56 

The  Child  and  the  Cloud, ...April    3,"  57 

A  Vision  of  the  Future, April    7,  "  59 

Childhood's  Memories, April,        "  60 

A  Cluster  of  Violets, April.        "  62 

A  Lament  for  Little  Fido, April  11,   "  63 

Mandoline, April  22,  "  65 

A  Hymn  of  the  Resurrection, May  21,  "  66 

Only  Six  Years  Old, May  31,  "  68 

The    Poet's  Dream— Unfinished, May,        ' '  69 

InaHammock, June  19,  "  70 

Beautiful  Rain, June  28,  "  71 

The  Brook, July  14,  "  72 


CONTENTS.  Vii 


The  Baby's  Breath, July  14,  1871.  73 

The  Farmer's  Baby, July  19,  "  74 

Baby  Boy, July  19,  "  75 

The  May  Wreath, July  26,  "  76 

Mosses  and  Shells  from  Lily  May's  Cabinet, July  29,  "  77 

The  Child  and  the  Brook, August,  "  80 

Our  Johnnie Aug.  30,  "  82 

The  Evening  Landscape;  or  My  View, Sept.  5,  "  84 

Handsome  Is  that  Handsome  Does ; 

or  The  Three  Flowers, Sept.  5,  "  87 

The  Evening  Scene, Oct.  11,  "  90 

Linda  and  the  Brook, Oct.  12,  "  92 

To  My  Mother  on  her  Birthday 94 


Yanna;  or  the  Lovely  Picture, April  15-June  3,  1871.    95 


ramas. 


A  Rolling  Stone  Gathers  no  Moss;  A  Tragedy, Feb.  21,  1871.    129 

No  Use  Crying  for  Spilled  Milk;  A  Tragedy, April,        "       135 

Victor,  the  King  of  Fairy-Land, October,    "       144 


Cfo 

October,  1870. 

fKNOW  a  spot  where  the  violet  grows, 
And  a  mountain-brook  through  the  forest  flows 
Down  to  the  sea  that  murmurs  low, 
And  dashes  the  foam  as  white  as  snow 
Around  the  rocks,  and  o'er  the  sands, 
And  plays  by  the  isle  where  the  light-house  stands. 

'Tis  beautiful  there  at  the  close  of  day, 

When  the  painted  butterfly  ceases  its  play 

To  rest  in  calm  and  sweet  repose, 

On  the  soft  warm  heart  of  the  sweet  red  rose. 

Then  the  daisy  shuts  its  golden  eye, 

And  the  insects  cease  their  hum  and  fly. 

I  love  to  roam  at  dawn  of  day, 

And  list  to  the  wild  birds'  morning  lay  ; 

Then  all  the  flowers  are  waking  up, 

And  the  water-lily  opes  its  cup, 

The  sun  sends  down  its  warming  rays, 

And  the  little  brook  with  the  pebbles  still  plays. 


As  Pirst  Written. 

fKNOW  a  spot  where  the  wild  thyme  blows, 
Where  the  wind  caresses  the  sweet  red  rose, 
Where  human  foot  doth  seldom  tread 
On  the  soft  green  moss  that  makes  a  bed 
For  the  modest  violet. 

I  love  to  roam  at  dawn  of  day 
In  its  realms  where  the  beautiful  butterflies  play, 
For  there  is  peace  and  joyfulness 
E'en  to  the  blades  of  soft  green  grass 
That  peep  up  from  the  moss. 


Count  rn 

December  17, 1870. 

fT  stands  upon  a  grassy  plain, 
Arnid  the  elm-trees  tall, 
That  stretch  their  branches  far  in  vain 
To  catch  the  stars  so  small. 

But  hark  !  the  school-bells  ring 

For  nine  o'clock  at  morn, 
See  the  children  coming  in 

With  book  under  each  arm. 

With  many  a  shout  and  merry  din 

They  pour  in  at  the  door, 
Their^  lunches  in  their  pails  of  tin, 

Oh,  me  !  just  hear  them  roar  ! 

The  old  schoolmaster  he  is  there, 

So  dignified  and  tall, 
With  stature  large  and  figure  spare, 

He  seems  to  fill  the  hall. 


iz  She  Countrn  $cbool-i)o«se. 

He  taps  the  desk  and  school  begins. 

The  children  take  their  seats  ; 
They  laugh  and  whisper,  play  with  pins, 

And  many  other  feats. 

At  last  the  bell  rings — school  is  done — 

How  glad  the  children  are  ! 
With  many  a  joke  and  many  a  pun, 

They  run  out  in  the  air. 

And  now  they're  gone,  the  school-room's  bare 
And  still  and  empty  as  the  night, 

Except  a  straggler  here  and  there, 
That  stayed  to  fly  his  kite. 


- Claws' 

December  20, 1870. 

j^jff  WAS  a  merry  Christmas  eve, 
c5Z   The  snow  was  falling  fast ; 
The  time  when  folks  believe 

Old  Santa-Glaus  comes  past. 
The  children  hung  their  stockings 

At  the  chimney-corner  tall — 
Even  little  Toddlekins 

Hung  up  her  stocking  small. 

But  hark  !  what  means  this  knocking 
In  the  chimney,  who  is  that  ? 

'Tis  Santa-Glaus  that's  coming, 
I  thought  it  was  a  rat. 

Look,  look  !  his^head  is  peeping — 
How  funny  he  does  seem  ! 

He  looks  to  see  'f  they're  sleeping 

So  that  he  can't  be  seen. 
2* 


Now  see  I  he's  coming  out, — 

Oh  me !  how  he  does  act ! 
How  carefully  he  moves  about 

So  he  shan't  drop  his  pack  ! 
Here  is  a  doll  for  Chris — 

And,  oh  dear  me  !  what's  that  ? 
A  rocking-horse  for  Bob, 

And  next  a  squeaking  cat. 


And  here's  a  drum  for  Tom, 

A  little  trumpet  next, 
Then  a  dollie  that  came  from 

Paris,  in  rose-silk  dressed  ; 
And  then  for  Toddlekins  a  doll 

To  ope  and  shut  its  eye  ; 
And  then  a  parrot,  pretty  Poll ! 

And  a  baby  that  can  cry. 

And  now  his  work  is  done, 
The  stockings  all  are  filled — 

Not  even  a  sugar-plum 

Upon  the  floor  he's  spilled. 


And  now  he's  gone,  the  children  sleep 
And  dream  sweet  dreams  all  night, 

Till  the  morn  begins  to  peep 
And  the  sun  shines  bright. 


Jr.  Coots's  Stemmt  for 

January  11, 1871. 

«LORENCE,  my  own  true  love  ! 
Listen  to  me  my  dove — 
Your  dangers  all  with  love  I'd  fence, 
But  still  it  is  no  consequence. 

I  never  expected  nor  dreamed  that 
Burgess  and  Co.  would  make  this  hat 
With  band  around,  to  show  the  love 
I  feel  for  you,  my  cooing  dove. 

And  now  I'll  end  this  sad  romance — 
'Tis  not  the  slightest  consequence  ; 
Accept,  I  beg  you,  this  nonsense, 
O'er  which  so  many  hours  I've  spent. 


glr.  C00ts's  f  ammt— Ho.  2. 

• 

January,  1871. 

§EAR  Florence,  if  I  might  hope, 
Though  'tis  no  consequence  ; 
You  know  if  I  might  hope 
I'd  stand  in  your  defence. 

I  walk  the  streets  in  sheer  despair, 

I'd  die  for  love  of  thee  ; 
Despair  !  despair  goes  through  my  hair 

When  betrothed  pairs  I  see. 

And  now  I'll  end  this  sad  romance, 

My  devoted  love  you  see ; 
A  broken-hearted  man  I  am 

Despairing  for  love  of  thee. 


ifo  ghtb-Sau  of  a  fittU  Cbtlb. 

u        ^  0     (— '      -«  — ^  0 

January,  1871. 

fHOU  art  one  year  old,  my  darling  child, — 
Twelve  months  have  passed  since  first  I  held  thee  in 

my  arm  ; 
Sweet,  gentle,  trusting,  meek,  and  mild, 

One  year  thy  God  hath  kept  thee  from  all  harm. 

Thou  art  one  year  old — yes,  one  year  old, 

And  still  thou  art  more  dear  to  me 
Than  all  the  merchants'  shining  gold 

That  comes  across  the  sea. 

I  pray  to  God  to  keep 

Thee  safe  another  year ; 
May  angels  watch  thy  sleep, 

Then  thou  canst  never  fear. 


. — Jfifro. 

January,  1871. 

My  first  is  in  fie,  but  not  in  shame, 
My  second  is  in  dough,  but  not  in  bread, 
My  whole  is  the  name  of  an  animal. 


(fit  %  gotfr  uf  a  Jfaborit*  §o0. 

FIDO  died  Jan.  24, 1871,  aged  eleven  years. 

>^P  IS  only  a  little  dog,  and  yet 
G2   It  spreads  a  gloom  upon  the  place, — 
No  one  can  ever  him  forget, 
No  one  can  ever  him  replace. 

No  more  he'll  meet  me  at  two  o'clock, 
No  more  he'll  bark  at  the  horses  shy, — 

Oh  Fido  !  such  a  dreadful  shock ! 
So  cold  and  stiff  you  there  do  lie. 

'Twas  but  yesternight,  yesternight ! 

It  seems  as  if  it  could  not  be  ; 
Art  in  the  snow  so  cold  and  white  ? 

Oh  Fido  !  look  once  more  to  me  ! 

No  more  you'll  go  to  the  market  with  me, 

No  more  for  strawberries  red  and  round  ; 
I  weep  when  your  little  grave  I  see, 
•  To  think  of  you  in  the  cold,  cold  ground. 


(iMoohig  of  tfoung  ^ochmgtott, 

|i  .Scottish  $allab. 
Jan.  29,  1871. 

gather  round  the  fire, 
Ye  warriors  brave  and  true, 
And  the  wooing  of  young  Jockington 
I  will  relate  to  you. 

In  Scotland  fair  there  lived  a  maid, 

Fair  to  the  eye  was  she, 
With  rosy  cheeks  and  hazel  eyes, 

The  lily  of  the  lea. 

Now  there  lived  a  lad,  young  Jockington, 

Who  tended  flocks  of  sheep, 
Who  fell  in  love  with  Jennie  fair, 

Oft  causing  him  to  weep. 

One  day  while  he  was  tending  sheep 

He  saw  the  lassie  fair, 
Come  running  o'er  the  mountain, 

Through  the  violets  rare. 


®^e  Mooing  of  Houug  |ockmgion.  21 

In  her  hand  she  held  a  pitcher 

Filled  with  water  clear, 
Just  returning  from  the  fountain 

He  saw  as  she  came  near. 

"  How  do  you  do,  young  Jennie  ?" 

And  "  how  do  you  do,  young  James  ?" 

"  Now  stay  awhile  young  Jennie, 
To  watch  the  lambkins'  games." 

"  Oh  no,  I  cannot  stay,"  quoth  she, 

"  For  grandam  waits  at  home ;" 
"  But  never  mind  your  grandam,  lass, 

Come,  lass,  and  with  me  roam." 

So,  partly  from  his  teasing 

She  stayed  with  the  young  lad ; 
The  emerald  fields  were  waving, 

And  the  nightingale  sang  sad. 

When  the  murmur  of  sweet  waters 

Came  from  the  river  Dee, 
The  lassie  stopped  and  listened — 

"  'Tis  my  grandam  calling  me  !" 
3 


22  &h*  (Stoning  of  §oung  |ockington. 

"  Oh,  no,"  said  James,  "  'tis  the  river, 

'Tis  the  azure  river  Dee, 
That  floweth  on  forever, 

And  softly  sings  to  me." 

******* 

I  cannot  tell  you,  warriors, 

How  it  all  came  about, 
But  'tis  certain  they  were  married 

Two  weeks  after  their  rout. 


to  a 


January  30,  1871. 

fURE  as  crystal,  light  as  feather, 
Flying  through  the  chilly  air, 
Pausing  at  some  bunch  of  heather, 
Clear  and  dazzling,  white  and  fair. 

Tell  me,  tell  me,  little  snow-flake 
What  do  you,  on  this  great  earth  ? 

You're  so  small  no  one  can  need  you, 
You  are  dancing  now  with  mirth. 

"  Gentle,  cheerful  little  maiden, 
I  come  down  from  the  great  sky  ; 

I  come  down  with  all  my  brothers, 
I  come  from  the  clouds  so  high. 

We  are  covering  up  the  meadows 
Where  you  used  to  run  and  play  ; 

One  by  one  we're  softly  falling 
Through  the  chilly  winter's  day." 


January  29,  1871. 

Mabel,  at  the  table 
Always  behaved  as  she  ought ; 
Neat,  precise,  and  very  sable,* 

Always  acted  as  she'd  been  taught. 

Orderly,  careful,  was  this  maiden. 
Different  from  her  sister  Lou  ; 

Her  heart  with  duties  overladen — 
She  was  politer  than  a  Jew. 

Very  neat  was  her  hand-writing ; 

She  could  write  as  well  as  Lou — 
Never  quarreling,  never  fighting. 

Mabel  is  the  pattern  for  you. 


*The  author  explains  that  when  this  was  written  she  thought  sable  meant  sober . 
Also  that  this  piece  was  not  intended  for  poetry,  but  merely  for  rhyme. 


January  30,  1871. 


fOETRY,  poetry  everywhere  ! 
You  breathe  it  in  the  summer  air, 
You  see  it  in  the  green  wild  woods, 
It  nestles  in  the  first  spring  buds. 

You  find  it  in  the  primrose  rare, 
"Pis  in  the  apple  blossom  fair, 
It  smiles  in  maidens  and  in  youths, 
You  taste  it  in  the  apple-juice  ! 

'Tis  poetry,  poetry,  everywhere  — 
It  nestles  in  the  violets  fair, 
It  peeps  out  in  the  first  spring  grass  — 
Things  without  poetry  are  very  scarce  ! 


of 

Februarj-  2,  1871. 

§AR,  far  in  distant  Germany 
There  dwelt  a  peasant  poor, 
Who  had  no  children  save  Janet, 
A  maiden  fair  and  pure. 

Stern  poverty  did  often  break 

Upon  that  little  cot, 
But  still  the  little  family  lived 

Contented  with  their  lot. 


Now  Jennie's  love  was  '•  honest  John," 

A  goodly  man  was  he, 
Known  round  the  country  by  that  name 

For  his  great  honesty. 

But  soon  he'd  leave  fair  Germany 

For  countries  far  away, 
Till  he'd  come  back  both  rich  and  great, 

And  they'd  be  married  gay. 


<£{je  Jorgei-me-noi :    Q  Kale  of 

Two  days  before  he  left  her, 

A  lovely  day  was  that, 
They  strolled  the  woods  together, 

And  by  the  brookside  sat ; 

And  creeping  all  around  it 

Grew  the  forget-me  not ; 
Growing  down  to  the  water's  edge, 

Their  flowers  just  a  dot. 

Then  Johnnie  plucked  the  fairest 

And  gave  it  to  Janet, 
Saying.  "  Oh,  forget-me-not. 

And  I'll  come  back,  my  pet !" 

The  pearly  tears  stood  in  her  eyes. 

She  took  the  little  flower, 
Saying,  "  Oh  Johnnie,  I'll  be  true  to  you, 

And  love  you  with  all  my  power." 

Two  days  had  cast  their  shadows  down 

Upon  the  wide,  wide  earth. 
When  Johnnie  sailed  for  England 

Out  of  the  little  firth. 


28  ®ljE  Jf  orel-nu-not  :     i  &ale  of  (Strman. 


A  year  had  passed  since  Johnnie  sailed 

Away  from  Germany  ; 
A  year  of  watching  and  suspense 

To  the  maid  of  Hanover,  — 

When,  one  day  while  she  was  sitting 

As  she  often  used  to  do, 
Thinking  of  her  dear  Johnnie, 

And  the  forget-me-not  blue, 

The  door  wide  opened,  she  sprang  up  — 
She  knew  'twas  her  dear  John  ; 

Then  in  his  arms  he  folded  her 
Regardless  of  her  gown. 

The  next  day  they  were  married 

In  pomp  and  splendor  gay, 
And  lived  together  happily 

For  many  a  goodly  day. 


(8D:ur   Canaries. 

February  3, 1871. 

fANGING  up  in  the  ceiling, 
Billing  and  cooing  all  day, 
Are  our  darling  Canary  birds, ' 
As  happy  as  if  it  were  May. 

In  the  long  winter  evenings 

When  it  is  dark  and  cold, 
Dickie  beguiles  us  with  singing, 

I  would  not  sell  them  for  gold. 

Hopping,  hopping,  hopping, 

On  the  long  wooden  pegs, 
With  yellow  backs  and  saucy  black  eyes, 

And  funny  little  pink  legs. 

They  are  the  dearest  little  things, 
And  the  sunshine  of  my  heart, 

With  little  bills  and  funny  wings, 
I  never  with  them  will  part. 


Febraary  3, 1871. 

f  LOWLY,  slowly,  one  by  one, 
The  old  lamplighter  goes 
Lighting  each  lamp  in  its  turn, 
Till  they  sparkle  gay  in  rows. 

His  coat  is  ragged,  his  hair  is  gray, 

His  face  is  thin  and  wan  ; 
He  has  lighted  lamps  for  many  a  day 

In  the  noisy,  busy  town. 

Each  day  he  grows  thinner,  each  day  he  grows  old, 

Yet  each  day  he  lights  the  lamps ; 
Be  the  weather  warm,  or  be  it  cold, 

Still  he  goes  on  his  nightly  tramps. 

His  house  is  a  poor  one,  his  money  is  scarce, 

And  nobody  cares  for  old  Joe, 
But  still  he  goes  on,  each  night  lighting  the  gas, 

And  each  evening  he  makes  it  glow. 


February  3,  1871. 

fOFTLY,  softly  o'er  me  stealing, 
Comes  sweet  music  soft  and  low  ; 
O'er  the  meadows  softly  breathing, 
O'er  the  newly  fallen  snow. 

By  the  brooklet  softly  sighing, 

I  love  to  lie  and  list  to  it 
Far  off  in  the  blue  hills  dying  ; 

There  do  I  most  love  to  sit. 


Y  first  is  in  Poland,  but  not  in  Spain, 
My  second  is  in  get,  but  not  in  gain 
My  third  is  in  merry,  but  not  in  glee, 
My  whole  is  in  everything  that  I  see. 


February  4, 1871. 

JPULLABABY,  lullababy ! 
S*  Angels  watch  you  while  you  sleep, 
When  the  stars  begin  to  peep, 
Pleasant  dreams  around  you  play 
While  you  sleep  the  time  away  ; 
Naughty  dreams,  go  !  take  your  flight 
From  my  baby-girl  to-night — 
Hushaby ! 


Lullababy,  lullababy  ! 
Now  your  eyes  are  closing  fast, 
My  baby-girl's  asleep  at  last ; 
Bye,  bye,  darling,  mama's  here, 
Don't  you  see  her?  she's  quite  near. 
Now  the  moon  is  brightly  shining 
On  her  couch  of  stars  reclining — 
Hushaby  ! 


dhening  JTallabg.  33 

Lullababy,  lullababy ! 
Sleep,  and  dream  sweet  dreams  all  night, 
Sleep  until  the  sun  shines  bright ; 
Then  my  baby'll  ope  her  eyes, 
And  up  with  the  lark  she'll  rise  ; 
Then  when  he  is  singing  gay 
You  will  get  up,  my  little  May — 
Hushaby ! 


Co  |}tggie. 

February  13, 1871. 

dear  cousin  Bessie,  I  wish  you  good  health, 
And  a  pleasant  St.  Valentine's  day, 
With  valentines  plenty  to  add  to  your  wealth, 
And  beguile  all  your  pretty  play. 


Violttn. 

February  17, 1871. 

beneath  the  hedges, 
Growing  in  the  grass, 
Violets  are  my  favorites, 
I  loved  them  when  a  lass. 

Growing  in  the  meadows, 
Growing  in  the  fields, 

Everywhere  the  violet 
Its  little  blossom  yields. 

In  the  stately  garden 
Is  the  handsome  rose, 

While  the  little  violet 
'Neath  the  hedges  grows. 

Gentle  little  violet, 

Never  knows  a  care, 
Free  from  pain  and  sorrow, 

Modest,  sweet  and  fair. 


at  %  4Mb  Jpomesteafr, 

February, 1871. 

§HE  evening  shades  are  flitting, 
And  the  tallow-lamp  shines  bright  ? 
Grandmama  sits  a-knitting 
By  the  crimson  firelight. 

Grandpa  sits  with  snowy  hair, 
Dreaming  of  years  long  past, 

In  front  of  the  fire's  reddening  glare, 
With  the  light  on  his  features  cast. 

Faithful  old  Fido  lies  at  their  feet, 

Sleeping  away  the  day  ; 
Tabby  is  purring  softly  and  sweet, 

While  her  kitten  is  at  play. 

And  many  years  will  come  before 

This  picture  be  removed ; 
When  Tabby'll  be  too  old  to  claw 

The  mice  she  once  had  loved. 


Coberlib;  or  %  gtornhig  /rolic. 

February  27,  1871. 

fNDER  the  coverlid  dotted  with  green, 
Two  little  rosy  cheeks  may  be  seen  ; 
Two  little  eyes  are  winking  with  fun, 
Can't  keep  themselves  open  before  the  great  sun  ; 
Two  cherry  lips  so  merry  and  sweet, 
Two  little  hands  and  two  little  feet. 

Now  Bessie  darling,  she  must  arise, 
Then  she  must  open  those  little  blue  eyes; 
But  Bessie  is  roguish  and  mischievous  too, 
And  though  she  will  open  those  eyes  of  blue. 
She's  dancing  o'er  coverlid  and  o'er  sheet 
In  her  long  nightie  and  little  bare  feet. 

But  see !  mama's  caught  her  and  folded  her  tight. 
Away  from  the  sun's  glaring  reddening  light ; 
And  now  Bessie's  going  down  stairs  to  sup 
Some  nice  bread  and  milk  from  her  little  red  cup  ; 
For  mama  has  dressed  her  and  brushed  her  soft  hair. 
And  washed  her  round  face  with  sweet  loving  care. 


Cjxe  (Jkranram. 

February  27,  1871. 

§  ROAMED  throughout  the  garden, 
I  roamed  throughout  the  field, 
And  every  little  blossom 

Its  sweet  perfume  did  yield. 
The  lily  and  the  rose  were  there, 
And  the  gentle  little  maiden -hair. 

But  something  still  was  wanting, 
Though  I  could  not  tell  what  ; 

The  air  was  filled  with  fragrance 
From  every  yard  and  lot. 

I  saw  the  pink  and  violet, 

The  heliotrope  and  mignonette. 

But  suddenly  I  smelt  a  breath 
So  sweet  and  pure  and  clear, 

I  knew  'twas  the  geranium 
The  moment  I  came  near. 

I  handled  it,  and  oh  !  so  sweet  it  smelt ! 

I  plucked  a  leaf  and  put  it  in  my  belt. 
4* 


ilamboin. 

o        '- — ^ 
February  27, 1871. 

§  I  SING  in  the  lofty  mountain. 
Stretching  through  the  atmosphere, 
Gleaming  in  some  playful  fountain, 
Off  so  far,  and  yet  so  near. 

Bow  of  promise  !  far  extending 
Through  the  misty,  rainy  land, 

In  the  low  green  valley  bending, 
All  a  colored,  shining  band. 


JroKgbt;  or  Cjjilbjwob's  J 

February  27,  1871. 

fLove  to  sit  by  the  firelight, 
._      When  the  stars  peep  out,  and  the  moon  shines  bright, 
And  think  of  my  childhood's  happy  days, 
And  of  all  my  pleasures  and  all  my  plays. 

I  used  to  play  'neath  the  apple-tree, 

And  there  with  my  dollies  I'd  take  real  tea  ; 

Then  I  and  my  darling  sister  Bess, 

We'd  go  to  the  pantry  and  make  a  mess. 

We  played  at  milkmaid,  we  played  at  horse, 

And  then  to  each  other  a  ball  we'd  toss  ; 

We  swung  in  the  swing,  we  sat  in  the  teenter. 

We  jumped  off  the  roof  of  the  house — 'twas  a  lean-to ! 

And  I'll  never  forget  childhood's  happy  day. 

Though  my  hand  grow  withered,  and  my  hair  grow  gray, 

And  I  love  to  sit  and  build  castle-towers, 

And  think  myself  again  in  those  hours. 


<§ranaj?ii  011  Ijb 

With  a  copy  of  her  Verses. 
February  28, 1871. 

§ARLING  old  grandpa  with  silvery  hair, 
Thy  birth-day  has  come  by; 
Funny  old  grandpa  is  growing  old, 
The  short  years  swiftly  fly. 

Darling  old  grandpa  with  silvery  hair, 

Accept  this  little  book, 
O'er  which  I've  labored  with  much  care, 

And  filled  up  every  nook. 


C0  %  fib  of  %  Ballon. 

March  1,1871. 

^ITTLE  flower  of  spotless  white, 

Hiding  'neath  the  sun's  red  light, 
Pointed  are  thy  leaves  of  green, 
'Neath  spring  grasses  thou  art  seen. 

Give  me  not  the  rose  so  proud, 
Nor  the  candytuft  with  shroud, 
Nor  the  blue  forget-me-nots, 
Nor  the  pinks,  for  there  are  lots. 

Give  me  not  the  mignonette, 
Nor  the  modest  violet ; 
But  the  lily  of  the  vale  is  mine, 
With  silver  bells  and  emerald  shrine. 

Little  flower,  pure  and  sweet, 
Softly  hiding  at  my  feet, 
Other  flowers  ne'er'll  surpass 
Gentle  lily's  spotless  face. 


March  7,  1871. 

VIOLET  sweetly  reposing  one  day — 
A  sunshiny  time  in  the  month  of  May, 
Was  startled  to  hear  a  buzzing  sound 
From  close  beside  her,  above  the  green  ground ; 
'Twas  the  busy  bee,  and  she  heard  him  say, 
"  Madam,  your  honey  I  want  to-day." 

"  I  pray  you,"  the  violet  sweetly  did  say, 
u  Why  do  you  come  here  every  day 
For  honey,  and  yet  never  stop  to  take 
One  little  drop,  e'en  for  hunger's  sake  ? 
This  I  would  very  much  like  to  know 
If  you  will  tell  me  before  you  go." 

"  Yes,  Madam,"  replied  the  courteous  bee, 
"  As  soon  as  I've  just  run  up  this  tree 
And  got  more  honey,  I  will  return 
And  then,  sweet  creature,  you  shall  learn 
What  the  reason  is  that  such  as  I, 
Backward  and  forward  busily  fly." 


of  ilje  $)e,e.  4 

Thus  with  many  thanks  from  the  violet  blue, 
The  bee  flew  away  to  his  labor  true ; 
But  soon  he  returned  softly  buzzing  away, 
And  this  is  what  he  to  the  violet  did  say. 
I'll  tell  it  the  same  as  'twas  told  to  me 
By  a  robin  up  in  the  apple  tree. 

"  We  live  in  a  hive  with  holes  for  our  doors, 

And  plenty  of  honey  laid  up  on  our  floors, 

So  when  winter  comes  round  we  do  nothing  but  eat, 

Or  sleep  through  the  days  in  slumbers  sweet ; 

Our  queen  is  just  and  gracious  too, 

She  says  she  has  seen  the  violet  blue, 

And  privately  thinks  of  all  pretty  flowers 
She  ne'er  saw  a  sweeter  in  all  her  hours. 
But  I  must  be  off',  do  not  ask  me  to  stay." 
So  saying  the  courteous  bee  flew  away  ; 
But  often  the  violet  thought  of  that  day, 
And  of  all  the  honey-bee  had  to  say. 


Cjxe  flnemmu. 

March  9,  1871. 
x-p^; 

,  "P^T  EATH  the  greenwood  trees  and  the  forest  elms, 
&$  In  the  secret  places  of  forest  realms, 
There  lieth  a  flower  of  delicate  pink, 
So  sweet  'twere  from  fairy-land  you  would  think  ; 
'Tis  anemone  with  her  delicate  robe 
Of  soft  wildwood  mosses  for  her  lovely  green  globe. 

Modest  and  meek  'neath  the  greenwood  tree, 

Little  anemone  you  may  see  ; 

Dear  little  anemone,  forest-child, 

Gentle  and  delicate,  sweet  and  mild  ; 

In  your  May -day  forest  and  meadow-tour 

You  see  sweet  anemone  fair  and  pure. 


C0  Jessie  f*$.  Jfktc^r. 

March  1, 1871. 

DUMPING  in  her  mama's  arms, 
<s3   Free  from  cares  and  free  from  harms, 
Little  Bessie  ! 

Little  arms  so  plump  and  round, 
In  her  little  dressing-gown, 
Is  my  Bessie ! 

Papa's  darling,  mama's  pride, 
Bessie  come  and  take  a  ride 

On  her  papa's  knee  ! 

Little  eyes  and  soft  brown  hair, 
Bessie  is  a  baby  rare, 

Cunning  Bessie ! 

You  may  search  each  house  in  town, 
There's  no  baby  all  around 
Like  my  Bessie ! 


to  %  moid. 

March  9, 1871. 

fHE  rose  may  spread  her  mantle  fine 
Of  petals  pink,  and  leafy  shrine, 
The  lily  too  may  shake  her  bells, 
The  ferns  may  grow  about  the  wells, 
But  they  are  not  for  me. 

'Tis  not  the  little  maiden-hair, 
'Tis  not  the  heartsease  sweet  and  fair, 
Nor  the  forget-me-not  so  blue, 
No,  none  of  these  to  me  are  true, 
Not  one  of  these  for  me. 

Little  flower  of  azure  blue, 
Violet  to  me  is  true, 
Hiding  oft  her  modest  head 
'Neath  her  leafy,  mossy  bed, — 
Violets  for  me. 


totljers ;  or  %  |J  attars  0f 


March  13, 1871. 

fHREE  women  sat  in  the  parlor  neat, 
And  listed  to  patters  of  little  feet ; 
Then  each  one  spake  of  her  pride  and  dear, 
And  they  crept  together  closer  and  near. 

The  first  one  spake  with  a  joyous  face, 

"  There  ne'er  was  such  beauty,  there  ne'er  was  such  grace, 

As  are  seen  in  our  darling  little  Annette, 

The  family  pride  and  the  family  pet. 

"  Her  eyes  are  of  the  Spaniard  dark, 

Her  hair  the  color  of  the  lark, 

With  merry  lips  and  rosy  cheeks, 

And  soft  eye  lashes  'gainst  soft  eye-peeps." 

The  second  spake  with  beaming  eyes, 
"  There  ne'er  was  a  darling  of  such  small  size 
As  our  little  Tot,  'bout  as  big  as  a  mouse, 
We  could  put  her  into  the  baby -house. 


48     fthe  &hm  |Ho%rs  ;   or  the  f  atitrs  of  Mittk  4f«t. 

"  She  has  sweet  blue  eyes  and  auburn  curls, 
To  me  she's  the  prettiest  of  all  little  girls ; 
With  her  pretty,  graceful,  winning  way, 
And  smile  as  bright  as  the  dawn  of  day." 

Then  the  third  one  heaved  a  heavy  sigh. 
And  raised  her  eyes'to  heaven  on  high — • 
"  My  children  up  in  heaven  are  gone, 
And  I  am  left  childless  and  alone ! 

"  The  first  one  filled  my  heart  with  joy, 

It  was  a  darling  little  boy, 

And  while  he  lived  so  calm  and  pure, 

The  thought  of  his  dying  I  could  not  endure. 

"  But  he  died  !     Then  came  two  little  girls, 
With  soft  brown  eyes  and  soft  brown  curls ; 
But  now  they  up  in  heaven  are  gone, 
And  'tis  empty  and  dreary  now  at  home. 

"  And  they  sound  to  me  like  music  sweet, 
When  I  list  to  patters  of  little  feet." 
And  many  a  pitying  tear  dropped  there, 
They  thought  she  was  a  mother  rare. 


March  18,  1871. 

.<V^3 

'^P  ^  beautiful  in  the  month  of  May, 
CJi    When  the  robins  are  billing  and  singing  all  day  ; 
Then  the  blue  birds  build  in  the  old  street  elms, 
And  the  squirrel  leaps  in  the  forest  realms, 
And  the  children  watch  for  the  maple  buds, 
And  anemones  blossom  in  fields  and  woods. 
Then  the  blossoms  bloom  on  the  apple  tree, 
And  dandelions  flourish  by  hill  and  lea, 
And  the  brooklets  babble  in  the  grass-green  vale, 
And  the  lambkins  play  by  hill  and  dale ; 
And  I  love  to  roam  in  the  month  of  May, 
When  everything's  happy  and  everything's  gay. 


5* 


(Suggested  by  an  incident  related  in  a  Sermon  by  Rev.  N.  J.  Burton, 
]).  D.,  Park  Church,  Hartford.) 

March  20, 1871. 

§  WANDERED  in  the  little  street 
Where  all  was  hushed  and  still; 
No  patters  from  the  horses'  feet, 
No  music  from  the  rill. 

Two  young  men  stood  in  soldiers'  blue, 

One  held  a  little  child, 
And  looked  into  her  eyes  so  true, 

With  such  expression  mild. 

And  here  the  wife  stood  weeping  by, 

'Twas  a  sad  sight  to  see, 
Her  husband  in  the  war  would  die 

Upon  the  battle  lea. 

And  on  the  porch  the  mother  stood, 

Shading  her  eyes  so  blue, 
Her  boys  would  sacrifice  their  blood 

To  their  dear  country  true. 


Darling. 

But  worst  of  all,  so  sad  and  true, 

The  father  stood  so  brave, 
And  gazed  upon  those  coats  of  blue — 

Thought  of  them  in  a  grave. 

And  never,  never,  I'll  forget 

The  influence  of  that  day, 
I  thought  of  all  the  other  world, 

So  thoughtless  and  so  gay. 


10  a  Surtstt. 

March  20, 1871. 

fAST  sinking  'neath  thy  rosy  skies,  oh  sun  ! 
Fast  sinking  ere  the  weary  day  be  done, 
Thou  bringest  thought  of  days  of  happy  yore, 
Those  happy  days  shall  bloom  for  us  no  more. 
Thou  tell'st  me  of  those  days  of  infancy, 
Which,  wondering,  stops  its  play  to  gaze  on  thee, 
Thy  rosy  bloom  and  azure  cloudy  sky. 
But  farewell,  sun !  farewell  those  happy  days  of  yore ! 
Farewell !  I  see  thee  now  no  more,  no  more  ! 


t0 

March  21,  1871. 

§TAR  of  tlie  evening  !  belle  of  the  night ! 
Shining  with  lustre  sparkling  and  bright ! 
Lightly  ascend  to  thy  beautiful  throne, 
Lightly  put  on  thy  bright  evening  crown  ! 

Each  star  adores  thee,  shines  at  the  oft, 
Now  let  the  moon  sing  thy  lullaby  soft ; 
Rocking  in  heavens,  shining  so  bright, 
Sparkling  with  lustre,  shedding  thy  light. 

Now  farewell  to  Venus,  beautiful  star  ! 
Lightly  ascend  to  thy  swift  cloudy  car ; 
Star  of  the  heavens,  shining  above, 
Emblem  of  peace  and  emblem  of  love ! 


fflHrat  Is  |i? 

O  v_^  O 

March  27,  1871. 

'HAT  mean  these  eyes  so  bright  and  black  ? 

What  this  embroidered  little  sacque  ? 
What  mean  these  rosy  cheeks  so  fair  and  round  ? 
What  this  little  green  dressing  gown  ? 
And  these  little  arms  so  chubby  and  fat  ? 
These  locks  of  hair  soft  as  our  furry  cat  ? 
These  two  little  lips  so  merry  and  sweet  ? 
These  tiny  arms  and  these  kicking  feet  ? 
And  this  little  ear  as  red  as  a  rose, 
And  this  double  chin  and  this  little  nose  ? 
I  fear  I  must  tell  you  or  you'll  never  guess, 
'Tis  our  little  darliug  baby  Bess  ! 


fast 

March  30, 1871. 

fELL  me,  tell  me  !  old  brown  rock, 
Hast  ever  caught  a  fairy  lock  ? 
Say,  hast  thou  sheltered  a  wandering  fay, 
In  April  showers  or  at  close  of  day  ? 
Tell  me,  knotted  oak  so  old, 
Hast  ever  hidden  fairy  gold  ? 
Tell  me,  gentle  sloping  hill, 
Tell  me,  little  babbling  rill, 
Have  fairies  ever  danced  on  thee  ? 
I'm  sure  fays'  footsteps  I  can  see  ! 
Tell  me,  oh !   tell  me  this  I  pray, 
Tell  me,  hast  ever  seen  a  fay  ? 


to  a  fjft 

April,  1871. 

f"WEET  bird  that  mournest  in  the  forest  deep, 
That  spreadst  thy  mantle  of  dark  simple  gray, 
Thou  art  the  poet's  company  and  life ; 
Thou  bird  that  sing'st  so  mournfully  thy  lay, 
The  poet  doth  rejoice  in  thee  sweet  one ! 
Thou  art  his  thought,  his  heart,  his  joy,  his  son. 
He  puts  aside  his  lab'rous  work  and  lists 
To  thee,  sweet  bird,  fair  winning  nightingale ! 
That  mournest,  singest  in  the  lonely  dale, 
With  but  the  poet  for  thy  company, 
But  now  adieu,  sweet  bird,  farewell,  farewell ! 


Cjnitr  atitr  %  Clonb. 

April  3, 1871. 
CHILD. 

§ITTLE  cloud  far  up  so  high, 
Floating  in  the  azure  sky, 
Tell  me  what  use  art  thou  to  earth, 
Thou  playful  creature  full  of  mirth  ; 
For  often  I  have  heard  it  said 
All  things  for  some  good  use  are  made. 

CLOUD. 

Little  maiden,  mild  and  meek, 
What  I'm  good  for  would'st  thou  seek  ? 
Once  was  I  part  of  the  sea, 
People  used  to  sail  on  me, 
But  bye  and  bye  I  rose  up  high, 
And  now  am  floating  in  the  sky. 
But  I'll  not  always  stay  up  there, 
Floating  in  the  balmy  air, 

Bye  and  bye  I'll  form  in  rain, 
6 


58 


Come  down  to  the  earth  again, 
Water  all  the  little  plants 
In  wood  and  gardens'  secret  haunts. 
If  'tis  winter  then  I'll  freeze, 
Drop  down  on  the  apple  trees  ; 
This  my  use  is,  little  maid, 
That's  the  reason  I  was  made. 


^  Vision  of  %  Jfuture. 

April  7,  1871. 

fSAT  within  my  study  lost  in  thought, 
'Twas  then  I  slept  and  dreamed  this  lovely  dream. 

I  dreamt  the  future  was  before  me  brought, 
I  saw  the  scenes  I'd  passed  through  in  life's  team  ; 

I  saw  myself  a  soldier  brave  and  free, 
Fighting  and  struggling  fiercely  hand  to  hand. 

Next,  father,  with  three  children  at  my  knee, 
And  husband,  too,  with  sweetest  wife  so  bland. 

And  then  a  widower,  bowed  by  age  and  care, 
And  then  a  cripple  limping  with  much  pain  ; 

No  longer  beauty'd  smile  on  me  so  fair 
As  once  he  did,  or  youth  in  every  vein. 

And  then  I  woke  and  found  I  had  but  slept, 

But  since  that  time  forever  have  I  kept 

That  dream  all  safely  locked  up  in  my  heart, 

And  with  it  never,  never  will  I  part. 


mores. 

April,  1871. 

fHERE  are  many  things  that  cluster 
Round  childhood's  happy  dreams, 
But  my  gentle,  loving  parents 
Are  the  sweetest  now  it  seems. 

I  had  a  gentle  mother 

Of  never  ceasing  love, 
And  she  told  me  of  that  Father 

Who  looketh  from  above. 

She  read  to  me  the  Bible, 

God's  sacred,  holy  book, 
And  of  the  blessed  Jesus 

Who  never  us  forsook. 

She  used  to  tell  me  stories 

As  I  sat  upon  her  knee, 
Of  her  childhood's  happy  hours, 

E'en  now  her  face  I  see. 


61 


And  then  my  darling  father, 
Who  Latin  taught  to  me, 

And  hugged  me  closely  to  him 
As  I  sat  upon  his  knee. 

We  often  went  blackberrying 
In  the  forest  deep  and  dark, 

And  I  oft  would  stand  and  listen 
To  the  singing  of  the  lark. 

And  now  they  come  around  me, 
As  I  sit  and  think  alone,  ' 

Watching  and  waiting  for  me, 
Till  I  rise  to  that  great  Throne. 

And  never  I'll  forget  them 

Unto  my  dying  day, 
My  gentle,  loving  parents, 

Thoughts  of  you  ne'er'll  go  away. 


6* 


Co  a  Cluster  of  0i 

April,  1871. 

§  WANDERED  in  the  forest  on  the  bill, 
I  roamed  beside  the  brook  that  turns  the  mill, 
I  plucked  the  primrose  and  arbutus  pink 
Along  its  eddying,  babbling,  cooling  brink. 
I  plucked  forget-me-nots  so  meek  and  blue, 
They  too  beside  its  grass-green  margin  grew  ; 
But  as  along  the  valley  did  I  pass 
I  spied  a  cluster  of  blue  violets  in  the  grass. 
Now,  for  the  flowers  I  plucked  before  I  did  not  care, 
But  threw  them  all  on  the  green  moss  there, 
And  gathered  violets  till  there  were  none, 
And  the  bright  emerald  leaves  were  left  alone. 
Oh  sweet  they  smelt !  so  beautiful  and  fair  ! 
And  blue  as  skies,  yet  modesty  was  there, 
Bending  their  necks  beneath  their  leaves  so  green, 
Till  scarce  a  little  flower  could  be  seen. 
Then  I  pressed  them  closer,  closer  to  my  lips. — 
Since  then  I've  been  on  many  forest  trips, 
But  never  one  that  I  enjoyed  more 
Than  when  beside  the  brooklet's  babbling  pour, 
I  gathered  violets  to  my  heart's  content, 
Sweet  flowers !  with  their  heads  so  meekly  bent. 


fmittni  for  pttle  Jfitro. 

April  11, 1871. 

HEN  I  roam  about  the  orchard, 

V 

In  the  meadow,  in  the  field, 

I  have  no  little  Fido 

To  be  my  careful  shield. 

The  days  are  long  and  dreary, 
And  I  sit  and  think  alone, 

Why  my  darling  little  Fido 
Away  from  me  is  gone. 

I  have  no  heart  for  pleasure, 

I  have  no  heart  for  play, 
But  I  think  of  little  Fido, 

And  why  he  went  away. 

And  even  now  I  wonder 

Why  I  was  left  alone, 
Why  we  were  torn  asunder 

And  I  left  so  forlorn. 

The  birds  are  singing  blithely 

Up  in  the  apple  tree, 
But  I've  no  heart  for  music 

Now  Fido's  gone  from  me. 


64  ^  lament  for  f iiile 

For  all  about  that  orchard 
We  used  to  play  and  run, 

With  the  violets  beneath  us, 

And  above  shone  bright  the  sun. 

And  I  see  him  now  a-playing 
Beneath  the  apple  trees, 

With  his  merry  bark  a-straying 
Far  on  the  summer  breeze. 

The  violets  are  blooming 

Down  in  the  fresh  green  grass, 

And  the  brooklet  soft  is  tuning 
Where  Fido  used  to  pass. 

The  children  now  are  shouting, 
Just  coming  home  from  school, 

But  they  only  make  me  lonely, 
And  my  eyes  with  tears  fill  full. 

Oh,  my  darling  little  Fido ! 

Shall  I  no  more  see  thee  ? 
I  e'en  now  hear  the  barking 

Upon  the  grassy  lea. 


April  22,  1871. 

fWEET  Mandoline  sitting  beneath  the  trees, 
Letting  thy  wild  song  float  on  the  breeze, 
With  fresh  blooming  roses  thy  brow  is  entwined, 
And  the  flowers  sweet  perfumes  send  to  thee  on  the  wind. 
Thy  feet  thou  art  bathing  in  the  cool  brooklet's  flow. 
Where  sweet  blue  forget-me-nots   clustering  grow, — 
Thy  long  Spanish  hair  thou  hast  taken  down 
So  that  it  almost  touches  the  ground. 
Such  is  the  dream  that  wins  my  heart, 
With  so  sweet  a  picture  ne'er  can  I  part ; 
So  haste  thee,  sweet  Mandoline,  haste  to  my  side, 
And  I  will  make  thee  my  winning  bride. 


J,  Jgnm  of  % 

Dedicated  to  my  loving  Parents. 
May  21, 1871. 

//F  OME  ye  saiuts  that  do  rejoice 
C3  Iu  the  blessed  Saviour's  name, 
Enter  into  heavenly  joys, 

And  His  peaceful  kingdom  claim. 
Far  beyond  the  crystal  river, 
There  is  peace  and  joy  forever. 

There  with  golden  harps  you'll  sing, 
There  you'll  wear  a  golden  crown  ; 

Forever  let  your  praises  ring 

For  Christ  the  Lamb,  the  spotless  One. 

Far  beyond  the  crystal  river 

Sing  His  praises  loud  forever. 

In  the  kingdom  of  your  Lord 
Rest,  oh  rest,  ye  weary  saints  ! 

'Neath  His  sheltering  wings'  abode, 
There  the  hungry  soul  ne'er  faints. 

Far  beyond  the  crystal  river 

Rest  within  your  Lord  forever. 


^  flgmn  of  the  Hitsarmiion.  67 

There  the  tree  of  life  doth  bloom, 

There  'tis  day  and  never  night, 
For  Christ,  who  drives  away  all  gloom, 

Brighter  doth  shine  than  earthly  light. 
Far  beyond  the  crystal  river 
He  shines  with  blessed  light  forever. 

Once  He  lived  on  earth  for  us, 

Healed  the  sick,  poor,  and  insane; 
Died  upon  the  bloody  cross, 

And  rose  to  heaven  again  to  reign. 
Now  beyond  the  crystal  river 
He  reigns  in  peace  and  joy  forever. 

Then  come  ye  saints  that  do  rejoice 

In  His  blessed,  holy  Name, 
Enter  to  His  holy  joys, 

And  His  peaceful  kingdom  claim. 
Far  beyond  the  crystal  river 
Dwell  with  Him  in  peace  forever. 


May  31,  1871. 

a  little  maiden 
°x5>  With  curly  hair  of  gold, 
Only  a  red-cheeked  darling, 
Only  six  years  old. 

Only  a  pearly  forehead, 

Only  sweet  cherry  lips  two, 
Only  a  little  hand  lily  white, 

Only  large  eyes  of  blue. 

***** 

Only  a  stilled  chamber, 

Only  a  form  white  and  cold, 

Only  a  sleeping  infant, 
Only  six  years  old. 

Only  a  little  angel 

Safe  in  the  heavenly  fold, 
Only  up  with  Jesus 

Walking  those  streets  of  gold. 

Only  two  weeping  parents, 

Only  an  empty  room, 
Awed  and  darkened  and  silent, 

Overhung  with  gloom. 


(Unfinished.) 
May,  1871. 

jjjjff  IS  evening,  and  the  stars  do  peep, 
es.    Bright 'shines  the  winter  moon, 
Old  Shakspeare  lieth  fast  asleep 

In  the  midst  of  evening's  gloom. 
Fast,  fast  asleep,  and  this  great  man 
Dreams  over  what  he  wrote,  again. 

Titania  gay,  the  fairy  queen, 
Now  doth  her  revels  hold, 

And  Oberon,  her  king,  is  seen 
With  all  his  fairy  gold. 

Bassanio  now  his  love  doth  win, 

A  golden  ring  she  giveth  him. 

Duke  Frederick,  with  angry  look, 
Fair  Rosalind  doth  banish  ; 

Here  cometh  Corin  with  a  crook, 
Now  Adam  old  doth  famish. 

Hermione  again  doth  live, 

Doth  to  Perdita  blessings  give. 
7 


n  a 

June  19,  1871. 

\  ,YjY  H  !  I  love  and  I  love  to  roam  in  the  dell, 


Where  the  lily  shaketh  her  crystal  bell, 
Where  the  birds  twitter  secrets  above  in  the  tree, 
And  the  sweetest  songs  they  sing  to  me  ; 
And  I  sit  in  my  hammock  and  swing  and  swing, 
Happier  far  than  many  a  king. 


Jiam. 

( Written  on  the  piazza  during  a  shower. ) 
June  28, 1871. 

fEAUTIFUL,  beautiful,  beautiful  rain  ! 
Making  the  brooklet  dance  in  the  glen, 
Making  the  daisy  lift  up  its  head. 
Filling  with  water  the  tulip-cups  red, 
Making  the  lawn  grass  fresh  and  green, 
While  in  the  distance  a  rainbow  is  seen. 

Beautiful  rain  !  so  refreshing  and  cool ! 
Making  us  holidays  out  of  school, 
Making  music  of  nature  sweet  and  soft, 
Pattering,  knocking  on  the  brown  roof  aloft, 
Falling  o'er  forest  and  valley  and  plain, 
Beautiful,  beautiful,  beautiful  rain  ! 


July  14, 1871. 

fRUSH  along  the  lofty  mountain's  steep, 
I  murmur  in  the  forest  wild  and  deep, 
Until  I  reach  the  azure  sea  at  last, 
And  on  her  azure  bosom  safe  am  cast. 

I  overflow  the  orchards  and  the  lots, 
And  water  freely  the  forget-me-nots, 
That  nestle  by  my  side  confidingly 
Beneath  the  gentle  weeping  willow  tree. 

I  carol  in  the  peaceful  meadows  green, 
Where  her  purple   mantle  dons  the   violet  fair ; 
I  roam  in  woods  where  blooms  the  eglantine, 
Where  wild  primroses  scent  the  balmy  air. 

And  still  I  chatter,  babble,  laugh  and  carol, 
And  dash  my  spray  upon  the  mountain  laurel, 
Then  flee  away,  laughing,  in  full  career, 
As  swift  and  fleet  as  any  mountain  deer. 


July  14, 1871. 

/^S^X 

fH  baby  !  where  didst  get  thy  breath,  where  ? 
Did  zephyrs  bring  it  thee  ? 
Did  it  float  to  thee  from  the  blossom  fair 

Of  the  scented  orange  tree  ? 
Did  some  fairy  wing  it  to  thee  so  fleet  ? 
Ot  art  thou  some  new-born  flower  sweet  ? 

Oh,  say  !  whence  cometh  this  golden  hair  ? 

Whence  these  eyes  of  ocean  blue  ? — 
She  raised  them  to  mine  with  a  sudden  air, 

"  I  know  !  I  got  them  from  you  !" 


7* 


Jf armor's 

July  19, 1871. 

' '  M    SHO  ULD  like  to  know  what's  the  use  of  a  baby  ! 

Qs>     To  make  everybody  trouble  may  be  ! 
Allers  a  kickin'  'n  squallin'  'n  rollin', 
A-doin'  mischief  'n  cryin'  'n  foolin', 
Fallin'  bumpity-bump  adown  the  stairs, 
Gittin'  knocked  under  tables  'n  pinched  under  chairs, 
Knockin'  head  agen  doors  'n  gittin'  it  bruised, 
'N  screechin'  'n  thinkiu'  its  bein'  abused. 
'N  when  I  come  in  from  hard  work  at  my  plough, 
It's  '  step  softly !  don't  wake  her !  she's  fast  asleep  now  !' 
They  call  her  a  '  precious,'  'n  '  rosebud,'  'n  '  pearl,' — 
For  my  part  I  don't  see  much  good  in  a  girl, 
And  my  head  will  soon  be  in  a  terrible  whirl 
If  they  don't  send  that  squallin'  young  infant  away, 
THAT'S  the  one  thing  that  baby  is  good  for  /  say !" 


July  19,  1871. 

tiny  pink  hands  and  month  shaped  like  a  bow, 
With  pearly  forehead  as  white  as  snow, 
Baby-boy. 

With  a  dimpled  chin  and  tiny  head, 
Bald  and  round  and  smooth  and  red, 
Baby-boy. 

With  blackberry  eyes  of  a  startling'gaze, 
Inquiringly  looking  up  in  your  face, 
Baby-boy. 

Now  Benny  is  going  out  for  a  ride, 
"  Wis  booful  flowers  on  every  side," 

Holding  his  toy, 

Good-bye,  baby-boy! 

I  wish  you  joy  ! 


July  26,  1871- 

ITH  what  shall  I  crown  thy  brow  fair  queen  ? 

With  the  blushing  rose  or  the  eglantine  'i 
With  the  tall  bright  pinks  so  fair  and  sweet  ? 
With  the  heliotrope  or  the  mignonette  ? 
With  forget-me-not  blue  as  the  summer  sky, 
Looking  up  modestly  with  her  gold  eye  ? 
Fair  queen,  I  never  can  guess  it  I'm  sure, 
Unless  'tis  the  drooping  lily  pure. 

QUEEN. 

What  is  that  flower  that  grows  'neath  the  hedges, 

Or  by  the  brooklet's  bright  green  edges  ? 

She  is  as  blue  as  the  ocean  wild, 

Modest,  meek,  tender,  lovely  and  mild, 

Beautiful  flower !  world-renowned, 

With  that  and  no  other  shall  my  brow  be  crowned. 


[Title  of  a  Book  to  be  filled  for  Mania's  Birthday.] 


lag's  Cabinet, 

Dedicated  to 
MY  LOVING   PARENTS, 

Who  kindly  helped  me  to  gather  them  together. 

July  29,  1871. 
INTRODUCTION 

§  WANDERED  in  the  forest's  cooling  shade, 
I  sat  beside  the  brooklet  in  the  glade  ; 
When,  hearing  some  slight  rustle,  turned  around 
And  saw  a  simple  child  upon  the  ground. 
Pushed  back  were  her  curly  golden  ringlets, 
And  her  eyes  the  hue  of  the  violets. 
She  saw  me  not,  but  spoke  this  simple  word, 
Nor  knew  that  any  one  had  overheard. 


78  Hloss.es  ani>  Shells  from  $ilj)  ||lajj's  Cabinet. 


CHILD. 

Oh  !  prattling  mountain  brook  that  flowest  calm 
Bepast  the  meadow  green  or  peaceful  farm, 
I'm  sure  thou  hast  some  secret  yet  untold, 
I  prythee,  brooklet,  it  to  me  unfold, 
For  thou  dost  chatter  most  mysteriously, 
And  whisper  often  to  the  old  oak  tree 
And  laugh,  and  spatter  water  over  me. 

BROOK. 

I  have  a  secret,  truly  hast  thou  said  ; 
I  have  a  secret,  gentle  little  maid  ; 
I  have  a  secret  I'd  to  none  disclose 
But  to  my  innocent,  my  gentle  rose. 
Dost  see  the  pebbles  on  my  bosom  there  ? 
Dost  see  the  mosses  on  the  old  oak  tree? 
Upon  each  stone  a  tale  is  written,  rare, 
And  many  a  tale  the  moss  will  tell  to  thee  ; 
For  books  in  running  brooks  are,  one  has  said, 
And  sermons  hi  the  pebbles  smooth  are  laid. 


anb  &tylls  from  Jftlg  PHJJ'S  dabhtet.         79 

CHILD. 

I  thank  thee,  brooklet,  I'll  come  every  day 
And  read  the  tales  so  carefully  hid  away. 
And  then  she  tripped  off  to  her  little  farm, 
Swinging  her  hat  with  bare,  plump,  snowy  arm. 
I  took  some  stones,  and  moss  from  off  the  tree, 
And  many  a  tale  the  moss  has  told  to  me, 
And  many  tales  from  off  the  stones  I've  read, 
And  for  that  day  I  always  have  been  glad ; 
And  so  I  wrote,  for  you  to  read,  this  book, 
And  ever  will  I  praise  the  running  brook. 


aitfr  %  §r00L 

(Dedicated  to  my  friend,  "  Cousin  Fanny.") 

August,  1871. 

CHILD. 

§  BROOKLET,  brooklet !  where  hast  thou 
been  ? 

BROOK. 

I've  been  dancing  in  the  woodland  glen  ; 
I  rushed  down  the  lofty  mount  so  fleet ; 
I  serenaded  the  forget-me-nots  sweet ; 
I  stopped  at  the  foot  of  the  hill  to  dally, 
And  kiss  the  lily  of  the  valley. 

CHILD. 

Brooklet,  brooklet !  what  heardest  thou  ? 

BROOK. 

I  heard  the  birds  sing  above  on  the  bough, 
I  heard  the  sea  murmur  a  lullaby  ; 
To  the  silvery  moon  in  the  star-lit  sky, 
Heard  a  nightingale  mourn  her  love-melody. 


$fye  Cfcilh  anb  %  frock.  81 

CHILD. 

Brooklet,  brooklet !  what  didst  thou  see  ? 

BROOK. 

I  saw  the  violets  nodding  to  me, 

And  a  squirrel  cracking  nuts  in  a  tree  ; 

I  saw  the  fays  dance  on  the  mountain-tops, 

I  watered  the  golden  butter-cups  ; 

I  saw  the  fringed  gentian  blue, 

And  new-born  roses  bathed  in  dew, 

But  the  best  that  I've  seen,  little  maiden,  is  you  ! 


Jfojmtm. 

August  30, 1871. 

!  who  loves  not  our  Johnnie, 
Our  baby,  our  little  pet  ? 
He  is  the  greatest  treasure, 
That  ever  we've  had  yet. 

He  came  to  us  when  the  roses 
Did  twine  the  porch  around, 

When  the  robin  sang  his  sweetest, 
And  the  cricket  made  cheerful  sound. 

But  dearer  to  me  than  the  roses, 

Than  the  robin  full  of  joy, 
Than  the  cricket  that  chirps  so  merrily, 

Is  my  own  Johnnie  baby-boy. 

With  his  fair  snow-white  complexion, 
With  his  nut-brown  hair  and  eyes, 

With  his  innocent,  hearty  laughter, 
And  his  little  mannikin  size. 


ijohratie.  83 


Oh,  precious  gem  of  childhood  ! 

How  little  dost  thou  know 
Of  the  anxious  cares  of  a  mother, 

And  of  sorrow's  dreaded  flow. 

Oh  Lord !  preserve  this  our  treasure, 
And  let  him  live  to  be  grown, 

Let  him  be  our  comfort  and  pleasure, 
And  let  Thy  will  be  his  own. 


n  Atoning  ^  antrsrape ;  or  SJ 

September  5,  1871. 

window  looks  out  to  the  west 
Where  stretches  the  mountain  wide, 
Beneath  it  the  river  blue, 
So  pure  and  calm  doth  glide. 

I  sat  alone  by  the  window,  * 

And  it  was  nigh  to  eve, 
When  I  saw  the  prospect  beautiful 

I  scarce  could  my  eyes  believe. 

The  smiling  sun  was  descending 

Behind  the  mountain  old, 
Sinking  from  clouds  of  crimson 

And  leaving  a  train  of  gold. 

It  smiled  on  the  peaceful  river, 
It  fringed  the  ripples  with  light, 

And  gently  smiled  on  the  dim-lit  earth. 
And  bade  each  thing  good-night. 


n  (Bfrnring  |Tanbscap£  ;  or  Hlg  $iefo.  8  5 


The  river  murmured  softly, 
The  cows  for  milking  lowed, 

While  on  the  peaceful  shadowy  lake 
A  new-made  couple  rowed. 

There  was  many  a  little  cottage, 
And  farm-house  with  age  brown, 

There  was  many  a  little  village, 
And  the  view  of  many  a  town. 

The  sun  saw  itself  reflected 

In  the  waters  of  the  lake, 
At  the  sight  it  blushingly  sank  below, 

And  its  evening  rest  did  take. 

The  cottager  sate  at  supper, 

And  from  work  trod  the  weary  men, 
And  the  birds'  evening  songs  reechoed 

From  mountain  unto  glen. 

Then  night  stole  soft  the  horizon, 

And  threw  her  mantle  round, 
And  the  daisy  closed  its  golden  eye, 

And  there  was  not  a  sound. 
8* 


86  ^.it  (finning  ^anbscape ;  or  l\\v  IHefrr. 

Then  the  little  stars  peeped  shyly 
Through  night's  robe,  one  by  one. 

And  flashed  their  lamps  athwart  the  sky 
To  light  the  path  of  the  moon. 

Then  suddenly  o'er  the  star-lit  sky 

There  issued  a  brighter  light, 
And  the  silver-robed  moon  with  watchful  eye 

Smiled  forth  upon  the  night. 

And  then  from  the  gates  of  heaven 

The  guardian  angel  fled, 
And  stole  to  the  little  cottage, 

For  the  children  had  gone  to  bed. 

Then  she  and  the  moon  watched  over 

The  children  all  the  night, 
And  from  the  angel's  starry  crown 

There  issued  the  brightest  light. 

And  the  children  now  are  sleeping 
'Neath  their  tender  motherly  care, 

And  they  dream  the  sweetest  of  earthly  dreams, 
And  they  sleep  without  a  fear. 


" |fiwbs0mc  Jfs  tljat  fjanbsontt  I)0.es ;"  or  Cjxe 
Cjjrte  Jflaters. 

September  5,  1871. 

§T  was  at  night ;  I  slept  and  dreamed  a  dream, 
A  fair  white  form  stood  by  me,  did  it  seem ; 
It  beckoned,  glided  off,  I  followed  it, 
'Neath  the  night-mantled  sky  did  we  two  flit ; 
And  in  the  cypress  and  the  orange  grove, 
And  wood,  and  dewy  meadow,  did  we  rove. 

I  saw  a  gate ;   within,  a  garden  was 

In  which  bloomed  many  flowers  beauteous ; 

And  I  did  wonder  when  I  saw  more,  plain 

Bloom  in  the  handsome  flowers'  stately  train. 

My  guide  then  smiled,  and  plucked  some  flowers   too, 

One  gay  pink,  one  red,  one  plain  purplish  blue. 

He  smiled,  and  said  to  me,  "  now  take  thy  choice  ;" 
I  plucked  the  rose,  the  gay  one  beauteous, 
When  on  a  sudden  it  my  hand  did  prick, 
I  threw  it  on  the  pathway  very  quick, 
And  said,  "  ungrateful  is  the  handsome  rose, 
Alas  !  how  very  vainly  did  I  choose  !" 


88  "  fjanbsome  f  s  Ibat  fjanbsonu  §oes." 

I  said,  "  I'll  choose  chrysanthemum  red,  then 
For  smooth  and  thoruless  is  its  simple  stem  ;" 
I  plucked  it,  smelt  it,  oh !  its  nauseous  smell, 
I  let  it  go,  and  to  the  ground  it  fell. 
"  Ungrateful  are  all  flowers  "  I  said,  "  to  me  ?" 
He  smiled  and  said,  "  Do  thou  but  wait  and  see." 


"  Then  I  must  take  this  plain  blue  violet," 

I  sadly  said,  "  though  it  cannot  be  sweet." 

I  took  it,  smelt  of  it,  oh  !  sweet  it  smelt ! 

I  joyfully  did  place  it  in  my  belt. 

And  said,  oh,  why  did  I  this  one  refuse  ? 

Oh,  why  did  I  those  handsome  vain  ones  choose  ?" 


"  A  thousand,  thousand  times,  within  my  eyes, 

This  modest,  gentle  flower  beautifies 

Itself,  and  seems  to  me  more  beauteous !" 

He  smiled  and  said,  "  'Tis  handsome,  handsome  does  ; 

Know  thou  my  name  is  meek  humility, 

This  humble  flower  an  emblem  is  of  me." 


attbsonte  |s  ijai      anbsomt    Baes. 


Then  I  awoke,  and  found  I'd  dreamed  at  night, 

And  so  for  you  my  dream  in  rhyme  did  write, 

Hoping  you'd  learn  a  lesson  possibly, 

Not  to  love  things  that  handsome  are  to  see, 

For  as  you  older  grow  you  soon  will  learn 

That  outward  handsome  things  do  often  turn  ; 

Humility  is  really  beauteous, 

As  you  will  find,  "'tis  handsome,  handsome   does." 


October  11,  1871. 

fHE  weary  traveler  paused  at  mountain-top, 
And  for  a  moment  rested  on  his  staff; 
But  oh  !  how  dear  that  scene  was  to  his  eyes  ! 
Far  in  the  west  in  splendor  set  the  sun, 
While  the  pale  moon,  impatient  for  her  turn 
To  shine  above,  on  throne  in  watchful  light, 
Hovered  about,  peeping  betwixt  wee  clouds. 
In  the  dim  distance  lay  his  native  town. 
He  seemed  to  see  the  little  cottage  neat ; 
He  seemed  to  see  inside  the  nickering  fire, 
While  round  it  gathered  a  home-circle  true — 
Brothers  and  sisters,  buxom,  loving,  sweet ; 
He  seemed  to  hear  the  knitting  needles'  click, 
Tremblingly  plied  by  the  industrious  hand 
Of  his  dear  mother,  old  and  silver-haired, 
While  in  most  trembling  accents  read  his  sire 
The  evening  paper  to  his  listening  wife. 
He  seemed  to  hear  the  crowing  of  the  babe. 


&\je  '(ffi hetting  Sbttnt.  91 

Not  all  however  in  that  circle  were. 

One  slept  beneath  the  willow  by  the  brook, 

Another  had  a  circle  of  her  own. 

And  Jamie  on  the  battle-field  did  sleep. 

Down  in  the  valley  gleamed  the  river  blue, 

Dotted  with  many  a  white- winged  ship, 

While  here  and  there  a  little  light  shone  dim 

Through  the  thick  veil  of  many  tow'ring  trees. 

Just  then  the  moon,  impatient,  had  her  wish, 

And  the  sweet  sun  in  brilliant  wonders  set. 

Then  night  stole  forth  and  rolled  the  curtain  down, 

And  from  his  eyes  was  shut  the  lovely  scene. 


ifiitfra;  atttr  %  §ro0h. 

(Dedicated  to  my  dear  Father  on  his  Birthday.) 
October  12, 1871. 

"HERE  Linda  sat  beneath  the  trees, 

Where  sighed  the  sweet-voiced  mournful  breeze, 
A  sweet  voice  on  the  silence  broke, 
And  thus  to  gentle  Linda  spoke : 

"  Fair  maiden,  come  away  with  me 
And  I  will  carry  thee  under  the  sea  ; 
Show  thee  the  huge  sea-castles  old, 
Where  on  his  throne  sits  the  sea-king  bold. 
I  will  comb  thy  hair  with  a  comb  of  pearl — 
Come  with  me  beautiful,  beautiful  girl ! 
I'll  curl  around  me  thy  beautiful  locks, 
As  at  midnight  sit  we  on  the  rocks  ; 
When  come  forth  the  graceful  syrens  and  sing, 
And  form  in  the  sea  a  graceful  ring, 
And  dance  and  sing  a  sweet,  sweet  lay, 
While  'twixt  the  rocks  the  mermaids  play  ; 
And  from  under  her  shining  golden  crown 
Wondering  the  vesper-star  looks  down. 


Hitb  %  $rook.  93 

I  will  kiss  thee,  and  kiss  thee,  and  kiss  thee  oft, 
While  we  list  to  the  song  of  the  syrens  soft. 
Fair  gentle  maiden  come  with  me — 
Why,  gentle  Linda,  dost  thou  flee  ? 

Come  with  me,  come  with  me, 

Under  the  sea!" 

For  days  the  brooklet  called  in  vain, 

For  days  he  called  her  again  and  again, 

Till  he  won  the  heart  of  Linda  fair, 

And  under  the  sea  he  carried  her. 

And  he  kissed  her,  and  kissed  her,  and  to  death  he 

kissed  her, 

And  sadly  he  wept,  and  sadly  missed  her, 
And  'tis  said  at  twelve,  some  time  of  the  year, 
That  fishermen  him  calling  her  can  hear. 


mtr      0r  0tt 


MERRY,  happy  birthday 
I  wish  you,  mother  dear, 
The  day  of  your  birth  has  come  again, 
Bringing  wealth  and  mirth  and  cheer. 

Another  year  has  left  its  print 

Upon  the  scroll  of  time  ; 
It  is  stealing  away  your  youth,  mother, 

It  is  stealing  away  your  prime. 

But  it  cannot  steal  away  your  love, 

It  cannot  fathom  your  heart, 
With  the  choice  rich  treasures  you've  laid  up  there 

You  will  never,  never  part. 

May  God  spare  you  many  a  happy  year 

For  me  upon  this  earth, 
To  cheer  our  little  household, 

To  brighten  our  little  hearth. 

May  many  rich  golden  pleasures 

For  you  be  now  in  store, 
I  wish  you  a  merry  birthday, 

And  I  wish  you  many  more. 


IJaiuui;  or  %  fc'obrlj)  fittuw. 


a;  0r 

(Begun  April  15  ;  finished  June  3,  1871.) 

I. 

INTRODUCTION. 

§WEET  Yanna !  gentle  maiden  of  the  wild, 
Blushing  as  rose,  and  beautiful  as  night, 
With  long  black  hair  and  dreamy  azure  eyes  ; 
Where'er  thou  stepped'st  didst  thou  shed  forth  light ! 
She  was  the  daughter  of  a  king,  his  pride,  his  hope  ; 
She  was  his  blossom,  gem,  heart,  antelope. 
She  was  as  gay  as  red-breast  robin  was, 

Her  eyes  did  dazzle  as  the  fire-fly  glows. 
9* 


|amia  ;  or  i\t  ITobelj)  |)ixtur£. 


II. 

THE    CHANGE. 

But  days  flew  on,  and  gentle  Yanna  changed  ; 

No  longer  sang  she  blithely  as  the  thrush, 

No  longer  skipped  on  the  grassy  plain, 

But  spent  her  days  alone,  and  thoughtful  grew. 

Now  Ferdinand,  her  father,  troubled  was, 

And  sought  to  make  her  open  forth  her  heart, 

And  tell  him  all  that  lay  within  its  depths, 

But  'twas  in  vain.     She  seemed  to  shun  e'en  him, 

And  sought  her  way  to  distant  forest  realms. 


III. 

THE    PICTURE. 

But  youths  and  maidens,  all  who  read  will  ask 
What  troubled  her.     'Twas  this — she  pined  for  love  ! 
The  father  troubled  was,  and  every  day 
His  wishes  grew  the  more  to  know  what  'twas. 
But  what  she  wanted  scarcely  did  she  know, 


;  or  i\t  Jfobelg  fixture.  99 

But  that  she  wanted  love's  pure  gentle  flow. 

Her  father  thought  to  turn  her  sadness  off, 

And  cared  for  her  with  tender  loving  care. 

One  day.  from  town  a  little  way,  he  took 

Her  to  a  show  of  pictures.     For  he  said, 

"  'Twill  please  her.     I  do  long  for  the  sweet  ring 

Of  her  gay  laughter,  and  her  merry  smile." 

One  picture  moved  her  strangely,     It  was  "  Love," 

A  youth  and  maiden  'neath  the  orange  grove ; 

Her  long  black  ringlets  sweeping  to  the  ground, 

He  clasping  her,  she  clasping  him — and  oh  !  his  eyes, 

So  brown  !  so  lustrous  !  oh,  so  fondly  did  they  shine ! 

Gazing  at  her ;  and  Cupid  soared  on  high, 

Chuckling  and  laughing,  with  his  tiny  bow 

Grasped  tight  within  his  chubby  elfin  hands ! 

The  tears  rolled  quickly  down  fair  Yanna's  cheek, 

Her  father  was  afeared  and  troubled  sore  ; 

But  as  they  wended  on  their  way  he  saw 

She  was  relieved,  although  he  knew  not  how 


ioo  gaima  ;  or  %  ^ofolg 


IV. 

THE   WISH. 

And  then  her  father  said,  "  I'll  grant  thy  wish 

If  thou  once  more  wilt  merry,  happy  be." 

Then  Yanna  thought,  and  said,  "  father,  I  will 

If  thou  wilt  grant  the  picture  that  we  saw." 

"  What  picture  ?"  quoth  he,  "  Innocence  or  Joy  ?" 

"  No,  father  !  '  Love,'  dost  not  remember  that  ?" 

"  Love  !  by  my  faith,"  he  said,  "  is  nought  but  that 

In  this  wide  world  to  please  a  maid  so  fair 

As  Yanna  !  gentle,  meek  as  violet  ?" 

<'  That,  and  no  other  wish  I,"  Yanna  said. 

The  father  troubled  looked.     "  There  is,"  quoth  he, 

u  Plenty  of  gold,  gay  dresses,  jewelry 

No  end.     One  half  my  kingdom  I'll  grant  thee." 

The  maiden  hesitated  not.     "  I  want 

Not  these,"  quoth  she.     "  That  picture,  that  alone. 

Send  out  thy  courtiers  o'er  the  world  to  find 

That  picture.     Never  merry  will  I  be 

Till  I  see  it.     Then  will  I  be  as  blithe, 

Merry,  and  gay  as  robin  in  the  tree." 


;  or  the  JTofrelg  ^ittnre.  101 

"  But,"  said  her  father,  "  how'll  we  find  it  ?   where  ?" 
"  Give  all  thy  money,  if  for  me  dost  care." 
"  Then,"  said  he,  "  I  do  consent,  sweet  maid, 
For  thy  sake  and  for  mine." 


V. 

THE    DEPARTURE. 

Then  Ferdinand  called  all  his  courtiers  round, 

And  said,  "  now  each  go  mount  your  milk-white  steeds, 

And  speed  you  to  the  master  of  the  show 

And  buy  of  him  the  picture  called  '  Love.' " 

Then  all  among  themselves  were  much  amazed, 

And  said,  "  He  to  fair  Italy  has  gone." 

"  Then  if  it  needs  be  to  the  end  of  earth  ! 

Go,  then,  and  not  return  till  ye  have  it. 

Here,  take  this  money,"  counting  thousands  twelve. 

"  At  your  bidding,"  said  they,  and  retired. 


iO2  Hatraa;  0r  fyt 

VI. 


THE   VOICE. 

A  twelve-month  passed,  a  twelve-month  came,  and  still 

No  trace  of  them  was  known,  and  Yanna  fair 

Used  oft  to  sit  and  weep  beside  the  rill. 

One  day  sitting  upon  the  violets  rare, 

Weeping  and  thinking  that  they'd  ne'er  return, 

She  heard  a  voice,  and  sweet  and  low  it  said  — 

"  Why  does  this  maiden  weep  among  the  fern, 

Upon  this  flowery,  grassy,  shady  bed  ?" 

"  Who  art  thou  ?"  Yanna  cried,  "  that  speakest  so  ?" 

The  voice  so  low  replied  :  "  Thou  must  not  know, 

But  I  will  be  thy  guide 

If  thou  wilt  promise  me  to  strict  obey." 

"  I  will,"  sweet  Yanna  faint  did  say. 

Then  said  the  voice,  "go  and  be  gay, 

Poor  Ferdinand  go  cheer  ; 

Thouknow'st  thou  promised  to  obey, 

So  shed  not  one  more  tear." 

So  Yanna  rose  and  to  the  castle  went, 

The  rest  of  that  day  merrily  was  spent, 


Hamta;  or  %  Itoheln  |)itttttt.  103 

And  when  at  even  did  she  go  abed, 

"  I  ne'er  felt  better  for  long  time,"  she  said. 


VII. 

THE    RETURN. 

One  day  when  Ferdinand  and  Yanna,  now 

No  longer  sad,  but  gay  as  bird  on  bough, 

Were  straying  in  the  forest,  field  and  dale, 

While  blue  birds'  songs  did  float  upon  the  gale  ; 

The  little  brook  that  gurgled  at  their  feet 

Did  sing  such  harmonies  that  were  as  sweet 

As  blackbirds  singing  after  summer  rain, 

Pouring  and  swelling  their  sweet  songs  in  every  vein, 

When,  suddenly,  a  trumpet  loud  did  sound, 

A  cry  sprang  up,  "  The  picture  fair  is  found?" 

Then  Yanna,  heeding  not  her  father,  sprang  as  fleet, 

And  sped  away,  as  quickly  moved  her  feet 

As  the  graceful  antelope  when  in  the  chase 

Moves  'long  so  fleetly  and  with  so  much  grace. 

"  Give  it  to  me,"  she  cried,  as  up  she  came. 


104  Mamta;  or  *!?£  Ifohelg  fixture. 

"  'Tis  heavy  for  you,"  quoth  a  page,  "  good  dame." 
"  Heavy  for  me  !"  she  cried,  "  the  thing  that  I 
Oft  used  to  weep  for,  oft  for  used  to  sigh — 
Here  !  do  as  I  command  you,  instantly  !" 
She  clasped  the  lovely  picture  to  her  breast, 
And  let  no  creature  touch  it  even,  lest 
It  should  be  stolen  by  some  evil  one, 
And  ran  as  fleet  as  if  shot  by  a  gun 
Into  the  forest,  and  within  its  realm. 
When  out  of  sight,  paused  for  a  rest 
Down  on  the  mossy  heath,  beneath  an  elm 
That  stretched  its  roots  as  if  to  chair  its  guest. 


VIII. 

THE    DREAM. 

And  Yanna,  thinking  she  would  rest  awhile, 
Soon  in  sweet  slumber  gently  did  beguile, 
And  dreamed  of  what  before  she  dreamed  ne'er  ; 
It  was  so  soothing,  wild,  romantic,  fair. 
She  dreamt  she  was  in  terror  of  an  asp, 


Ifamts;  or  %  ITobtlg  ^itluw.  105 

Just  ready  to  give  up  in  one  last  gasp, 
When  through  the  forest  burst  a  noble  youth, 
(On  his  fair  face  shone  beauty,  love  and  truth,) 
And  killed  it  with  one  thrust  of  his  sharp  sword. 
He  turned  to  her,  and  took  her  on  right  straight 
Unto  her  welcome,  open  castle  gate. 
Then  Yanna  woke,  the  lovely  dream  did  end, 
And  quickly  on  her  pleasant  way  did  wend, 
For  the  bright  sun  was  bidding  all  good  night, 
With  one  last  look  of  rosy  lustrous  light. 

IX. 

THE  HIDING  PLACE. 

When  evening  shades  were  gath'ring  fast, 
Sweet  Yanna  reached  a  spot  at  last 

Where  thickly  grew 

The  violet  blue, 

Whose  perfume  on  the  wind  was  cast. 
'Twas  an   open  spot  in   the  dense   wildwood, 
And  there  as  'twere  a  temple  stobd. 

Inside  of  it 

A  score  could  sit. 
10 


io6  ifsnita;  or  % 

It  looked  as  if  'twas  made  to  brood 
And  shelter  those  that  lost  their  way 
In  April  showers  or  storms  of  May. 

It  looked,  though  small, 

Welcome  to  all 

Who  tired  were,  or  went  astray. 
To  Yanna,  welcome  'twas  indeed — 
'Twas  near  a  mile  that  she  had  flee'd. 

Tired  she  was 

A  long  way  'twas, 
The  maiden  sorely  rest  did  need. 
Still  with  the  picture  at  her  breast, 
A  minute  more  she  paused  for  rest 

Upon  the  floor. 

The  open  door 

Full  welcome  seemed  to  give  its  guest. 
But  finally  uprose  again 
With  blood  revived  in  every  vein, 

Cheeks  once  more  red, 

Away  she  sped, 

Nor  glance  at  beauty  round  did  deign, 
For  she  had  seen  it  all  before ; 
But  opened  quick  a  secret  door, 


f?anna;  or  fyt  ^Tofoelj)  |Hclar.e.  107 

Which  showed  a  room  with  purple  hung — 
It  seemed  some  ancient  room  of  yore. 
She  pushed  the  heavy  curtains  back ; 

An  empty  case 

Draped  round  with  lace, 
Hung  up  where  beauty  did  not  lack. 
The  lovely  picture  she  put  in 
Away  from  misery  and  sin, 

From  dirt  and  vice — 

She  kissed  it  thrice, 
There  love  and  virtue  reigned  akin. 
Then  quick  the  curtains  back  she  drew, 
For  night  came  on,  and  dark  it  grew, 

And  sped  away 

Quick's  she  could  gae ; 
For  though  the  path  the  maiden  knew, 
She  knew  the  king  would  troubled  be 
If  not  his  daughter  did  he  see 
Before  night's  shades  hung  o'er  the  lea. 
But  strange  the  pathway  seemed  to  grow, 
And  quicker  did  the  maiden  go, — 
But  hark  !  what  is't  that  hisseth  so  ? 
And  nearer  now  the  branches  crash, 


io8  Ifmma ;  or  %  ^Tobdg 

A  snake  from  'mid  the  wood  did  flash, 

Using  its  tail  for  sort  of  lash, 

'Bout  two  feet  round  and  ten  feet  long. 

Ponderous  was  it,  big  and  strong, 

The  maid  was  'fraid  'twould  do  her  wron<r. 


X. 


THE    DREAM    REALIZED. 

The  snake  when  it  did  Yanna  see, 

Gave  forth  remonstrances  of  glee, 

And  lashed  with  tail  its  scaly  side. 

The  maiden  fair  was  terrified, 

And  frightened  was  and  much  dismayed. 

When  suddenly  a  thought  arose, 

She  raised  her  eyes  to  heaven  and  prayed ; 

And  when  her"  trembling   prayer  did  close 

She  heard  a  noise  in  the  deep  glade, 

And  there  a  noble  youth  did  stand 

In  uniform,  with  sword  in  hand, 

And  'neath  him  on  a  flowery  bed 


fJamta;  or  %  |Tobdg  ^'utnn.  109 

The  furious  snake  lay  stretched  out  dead. 

The  tears  rolled  down  fair  Yanna's  cheek, 

For  thankfulness  she  could  not  speak  ; 

So  full  her  heart  with  joy  did  swell 

That  swooning,  to  the  ground  she  fell, 

And  never  knew  a  thing  until 

The  morning  sun  shone  on  the  rill ; 

And  when  the  morning  star  did  peep 

Then  did  she  wake  as  if  from  sleep. 

She  found  herself  upon  her  own  white  cot, 

Though  how  she  got  there  ever  she  knew  not. 

Neither  was  she  alone,  for  near  did  stand 

A  page,  ready  to  wait  at  hand. 

She  was  about  to  rise  from  her  white  bed 

When  the  page  stopped  her,  "  Thou  art  sick !"  he  said. 

"  Sick !"  most  indignantly  did  she  cry, 

u  Who  ever  felt  more  well  and  blithe  than  I  ? 

But  take  this  robe — how  came  it  soiled  so  ? 

Last  night  it  was  as  white  as  fallen  snow !" 

u  Dost  not  remember  ?"  cried  the  page,  "  last  night 

When  thou  with  that  fine  picture  took'st  thy  flight  ? 

And  how  we"  found  thee  in  the  wood  in  swoon, 

Close  where  the  brooklet  flowed  with  gurgling  tune, 
10* 


no  Hsnna;  or  t^t  l^ofaelg  |)ktare. 

Where  violets  did  make  the  ground  so  blue 

That  grasses  and  their  leaves  were  very  few, 

There,  where  the  robin  sang  his  merry  lay, 

The  dwelling-place  of  happy  flow'ring  May, 

Who  skips  light-footed  through  the  wood  and  field. 

Who  makes  the  innocents  their  blossoms  yield, 

Who  breaks  the  chains  of  ice  that  bind  the  brook, 

Who  makes  the  violets  spring  in  every  nook. 

Beside  thee  lay  a  snake,  dead,  with  sides  gored, 

And  o'er  thee  bent  a  youth  with  bow  and  sword. 

We  brought  thee,  swooning,  pale,  to  thy  home  here. 

And  I  have  watched  all  night  thy  bedside  near." 

"  And  what  did  you  with  him  ?  now  tell  me,  lad  " — 

"  Thy  father,"  said  the  page,  "  was  very  mad, 

And  swore  that  if  he  did  not  leave  the  place 

He'd  meet  him  in  a  trial,  face  to  face." 

The  maiden  spake  not.     Tears  rolled  down  her  cheek, 

And  when  the  page  asked  why,  she  could  not  speak. 

"  But  hence,  ye  idle  tears  !"  at  length  she  cried, 

And  forthwith  her  sad  trembling  eyes  she  dried, 

And  skipped  so  gaily  Ferdinand  to  meet, 

With  smile  upon  her  face  so  blithe  and  sweet — 


fJanna  ;  or  %  iTohelg  ^ktare.  1 1 1 

So  fresh  and  merry  did  her  laughter  ring, 
As  if  base  sadness  was  an  unknown  thing. 


XL 

THE    DESPONDENCY. 

But  changes  came ;  and  now  once  more 

A  look  of  sadness  Yanna  wore  ; 

She  thought  of  the  strong,  noble  youth, 

And  pined  for  him,  to  say  the  truth. 

Her  picture  comfort  was  alone, 

One  day  beside  it  she  did  moan, 

She  heard  the  voice,  and  sweet,  sweet  tone 

Say,  "  why  dost  weep  so  sad  and  lone  ? 

Did  I  not  tell  thee  to  obey  ? 

Go,  then,  and  cheer  thy  father's  way  ; 

Go,  do  it  merrily  with  glee, 

And  always  blithe  and  happy  be." 

The.  maid  unwillingly  arose, 

Much  she  preferred  to  weep  and  drowse, 

But  still  the  voice  did  seem  to  say, 

"  Go  thou,  and  cheer  thy  father's  way." 


1 1 2  IJanna  ;  or  %  Jfobdg 

XII. 

THE  MEETING  AND  THE  SEPARATION. 

One  day  while  Yanna  sat  beneath  the  trees, 

While  flowers  sweet  did  scent  the  passing  breeze, 

And  Yanna  sang  so  blithe  and  gay  and  sweet, 

She  paused  on  sudden,  and  her  song  did  cease, 

For  hark  !  she  hears  the  tramp  of  horse's  feet, 

Clattering,  coming  nearer,  near. 

Crackling  branches  she  doth  hear ; 

— Near  her  a  branch  cracked  and  out  there  came 

The  lad,  the  youth,  the  very  same 

That  helped  the  lone  and  wandering  maid, 

Who,  were  it  not  for  him,  were  dead. 

With  cry  of  joy  then  Yanna  fair  upsprang 

And  gazed  at  him.     He  seemed  the  likeness  of 

The  cherished  picture  Yanna  had,  called  "  Love ;" 

When  near  did  sound  a  horse's  tramp, 

A  voice  cried  out,  "  Hi !  you  young  scamp  !"  , 

And  quickly  through  the  forest  rode 

King  Ferdinand,  with  wrathful  face, 

And  cried,  as  he  his  gun  did  load, 


0r  %  Jtofoig  picture. 

"  Did  I  not  tell  thee — leave  the  place  ? 

Then  go,  thou  rogue  ?  and  if  thou  dost  not  leave 

Before  set  in  the  shades  of  mourning  eve, 

I  trow  thou'lt  sorry  be  for  it,  bold  lad, 

And  I  for  it  will  make  thee  very  sad  ; 

Go  !  mount  thy  coal-black  steed,"  he  cried — 

"  I'll  see  to  this,"  the  youth  replied  ; 

But  straightway  on  his  saddle  sate, 

And  quickened  up  his  horse's  gait, 

And  waving  back  his  shining  spear, 

And  wiping  off  a  would-be  tear, 

He  quickly  in  the  forest  sped, 

For  in  the  west  the  sun  shone  red. 


XIII. 

THE    SERENADE. 

'Tis  midnight !  all  have  gone  to  rest, 
All,  all  in  sweetest  slumbers  blest 
Except  one  person,  all  do  sleep. 
'Tis  Yanna  !  who  alone  doth  weep. 
Tossing  so  restless  in  her  cot ; 


114  ffamra ;  or  %  iLofolg  fixture. 

And  she  the  only  one  is  not, 

For  there  a  youth  on  coal-black  steed 

Doth  toward  the  palace  quickly  speed, 

And  ties  his  noble  charger  tight — 

That  steed  had  witnessed  many  a  fight, 

And  often  quick  had  borne  his  charge 

Through  the  dense  forest  at  a  large, 

And  often  in  a  fight  or  fray 

Had  borne  his  master  many  a  day, 

By  field  and  valley,  dale  or  wood, 

Scarce  with  a  taste  of  any  food. 

'Twas  a  noble,  prancing,  coal-black  steed 

Which  outdid  every  horse  in  speed  ; 

He  but  his  master  would  obey, 

Useful  was  he  in  fight  or  fray. 

And  then  the  youth  with  sweet  guitar, 

Beneath  fair  Yanna's  window  knelt, 

Called  forth  such  strains  as  now  are  rare, 

To  show  the  love  he  for  her  felt — 

I'll  tell  the  notes  as  they  were  told  to  me 

By  a  daisy  blooming  near  by  on  that  lea. 


Ifanus :  or  %  ^ofaflg  |)itture.  1 1 5 

7%e   Serenade. 

Gem  of  my  bosom, 

Fount  of  my  heart, 
Pearl  of  the  ocean, 

Why  should  we  part  ? 
Wanderers  we  are  on  this  lone  wide  earth, 
Thinking  and  hoping  for  future  mirth. 

Chorus. 

0,  come  with  me  where  the  western  wind's  blowing, 
Where  the  brooklet  calm  and  cool  is  flowing, 
Where  primroses  and  violets  bloom  in  the  wood, 
To  render  the  honey-bee  luscious  food. 


Thy  eyes  are  of  azure, 

Thy  hair  Spaniard's  dark, 
And  thy  voice  is  as  sweet 
As  the  song  of  the  lark. 
O,  come  to  me,  dearest,  together  we'll  roam, 
O  say,  gentle  Yanna,  wilt  be  my  own  ? 


n6  If  aims;  or  % 

Chorus. 

0  come  with  me  where  the  western  wind's  blowing, 
Where  the  brooklet  calm  and  cool  is  flowing, 
Where  primroses  and  violets  bloom  in  the  wood, 
To  render  the  honey-bee  luscious  food. 

Thy  breath  is  as  sweet  as  the  rose  newly  born, 

Thy  footstep  as  light  as  the  graceful  shy  fawn, 

Thy  fair  brow  with  roses  is  all  intertwined, 

While  their  scent  floats  afar  on  the  whispering  wind. 

Fair  fountain,  gem,  antelope,  pearl,  rose,  my  dove ! 

O  come  with  me  darling,  my  own  true  love, 

Where  the  nightingale  sings  a  serenade 

To  the  violet  in  the  wild  green  glade, 

Where  the  butterfly  floats  on  the  dancing  wing, 

Where  the  oak  trees  gaunt  shadows  on  the  green  moss  fling ; 

There  heavy  laden  are  the  green  trees  with  fruit, 

There  will  I  play  to  thee  on  the  flute. 

Then  haste  to  me  darling,  make  no  stay, 

For  over  the  skies  hangs  morn's  dusky  gray  ! 

The  maiden  sprang  from  her  window  low, 
And  he  caught  her  in  his  arms  below, 


2faims;  or  the  ^ofadg  |3tcin«.  117 

And  he  mounted  her  on  his  prancing  steed 

And  they  were  about  from  the  castle  to  speed, 

When  they  heard  a  rustle  and  looking  around, 

They  saw  standing  ghost-like  upon  the  gronnd, 

With  enraged  face,  king  Ferdinand 

With  his  faithful  page,  and  his  sword  in  hand. 

"  What,  thou  again  !"  he  said,  "  thou  hindering  youth, 

I'm  tired  of  thee,  to  say  the  truth. 

Now  look  ye  here,  if  'fore  the  clock  strikes  nine 

Thou  be  not  'cross  the  waters  of  the  Rhine, 

I'll  send  my  warriors  after  thee  so  bold, 

And  for  a  year  in  prison  thee  I'll  hold, — 

Come  maiden,  come  with  me." 


XIV. 

THE    CAPTURE. 

Although  the  youth's  horse  gallopped  quick, 
Although  he  spared  not  spur  and  whip, 

School  bells  did  chime, 

The  clock  struck  nine 

Before  he'd  cleared  the  woodland  strip. 
11 


1 1 8  If  anna ;  or  ilje  3£0hlg 

The  warriors  on  their  saddles  sate, 
And  gallopped  with  a  quickened  gait, 

Though  the  youth  too 

Nigh  almost  flew, 

And  gallopped  quick,  but  'twas  too  late. 
They  bore  him  to  the  jail  near  by, 
There  for  a  twelve  month  did  he  lie. 

Alone  in  jail, 

He  did  bewail 
For  a  long  year,  till  him  they'd  try. 


XV. 

THE  BANQUET  AND  TOURNAMENT. 

And  now  the  father  looked  at  Yanna  fair, 

And  said,  "  She  needs  a  gallant,  valiant  youth 

Who  will  protect  her  in  life's  dreary  way, 

Who'll  make  her  bright  and  blithe,  and  cheer  her  up." 

And  so  he  made  a  banquet  in  the  hall, 

And  all  the  gallant  youths  did  thereto  call, 

And  all  the  knights,  princes,  and  warriors  brave, 


|?amta ;  or  %  ITofrelg  picture.  119 

Did  gather  round  the  board  most  merrily. 

After  the  feast,  king  Ferdinand  arose 

And  said,  "  Now  come  forth  knights  and  warriors  brave  ; 

Now  who  shall  conquer  all  the  others  most 

Shall  win  the  lily  of  fair  Germany. 

Then  forth  came  prancing  on  a  milk-white  steed 

A  gallant  warrior,  robed  in  dazzling  white, 

And  said,  "  There  ne'er  was  braver,  bolder  squire 

Than  Robert  William,  of  fair  Germany." 

Then  forth  there  came  upon  a  coal-black  steed, 

(That  seemed  to  outdo  every  horse  in  speed,) 

A  youth  who  though  in  suit  of  mail  was  clad, 

Still  Yanna  thought  she  knew  those  features  bold — 

Although  she  was  not  sure,  and  trembled  much. 

They  drew  their  coursers  up  within  the  ring, 

Then,  bowing  low,  the  action  did  begin. 

Long,  long  they  fought,  the  milk-white  and  the  black, 

Neither  did  boldness,  strength,  nor  courage  lack. 

But  see  !  the  milk-white  steed  is  overthrown, 

The  coal-black  has  the  first  one  bravely  won. 

And  one  by  one  the  knights  so  bravely  fought, 

And  one  by  one  unto  the  ground  were  brought. 

And  then  the  last,  a  dappled  monster,  came, 


120  Hatma;  or  ibe  l&obtlv  fixture. 

Throughout  all  Germany  was  spread  his  fame, 

And  none  were  known  more  brave  and  strong  than  he. 

His  bold,  brave  face,  e'en  men  shuddered  to  see. 

For  full  an  hour  did  the  duel  last. 

And  then  upon  the  ground  with  face  aghast 

Lay  the  gray  steed — and  fainting  and  so  white, 

Stretched  at  full  length  the  conquered  knight. 

Then  did  the  heavens  re-echo  joyful  shouts, 

Roses  were  scattered  in  the  victor's  route, 

And  the  victorious  wreath  his  fair  hair  graced, 

By  Yanna's  snowy  hand  was  it  there  placed. 

Then  Yanna  said,  "  Father,  I  do  request 

That  we  be  married  in  the  wood,  within 

The  little  temple  in  the  flowery  glen." 

"  But  why,"  he  said,  "  should  you  be  married  there  ? 

Than  there,  I'd  have  you  married  anywhere  !" 

But  as  he  loved  the  maid  exceedingly 

He  did  consent  at  last,  to  their  great  glee. 

XVI. 

THE    MARRIAGE. 

Then  did  the  bridal  train  proceed 
With  Yanna  on  a  milk-white  steed ; 


ffamta ;  or  tbt  c^otalj)  picture.  121 

Beside  her  on  coal-black  did  speed 

The  youth  with  waving  emerald  plumes  ; 

Behind  them  rode  bridesmaids  and  grooms. 

The  heavy  curtains  back  were  drawn, 

Upon  the  secret  nails  were  hung, 

And  the  fair  picture  called  (t  Love," 

Did  hang  the  bridal  pair  above. 

The  maiden  gazed  at  the  picture  fair, 

To  see  if  she  could  get  knowledge  there 

As  to  whether  the  youth  was  her  own  true  knight ; 

Cupid  seemed  to  nod  as  if  she  were  right. 

Then  tremblingly  she  took  his  hand, 

She  scarcely  knew  where  she  did  stand. 

Then  they  lifted  the  warrior's  armor  off, 

The  maiden  looked — 'twas  her  own  true  love. 


XVII. 

THE    RECOGNITION. 

Then  Ferdinand  saw  it  was  Edward  Lisle, 
The  fairest  earl  there  was  in  Germany. 
They  once  had  known  each  other   in  their  youth. 
11* 


122  gamta ;  or  %  JTobelg  |Htiim 

Then  down  upon  his  knees  fell  Ferdinand 
And  begged  the  pardon  of  the  gracious  earl, 
Who  did  it  graciously  I  you  assure. 


XVIII. 

THE    DEPARTURE. 

"  And  now  we  must  away,"  at  length  said  he — 
'  But  where  is  Yanna  ?     I  do  not  her  see  !" 
They  looked,  but  could  not  see  where  she  had  gone, 
Till  they  bethought  she  to  the  wood  had  flown  ; 
And  sure  enough,  they  met  her  in  the  wood, 
Running  beside  the  brooklet's  babbling  flood. 
With  something  clasped  tightly  to  her  heart 
As  if  she  did  not  mean  with  it  to  part. 
Then  they  on  white  and  coal-black  steeds, 
Did  trample  through  the  whispering  reeds 
That  rustle,  quiver  round  the  river  Rhine, 
Oft  mingled  with  the  bluebird's  sphery  chime. 
'Twas  midnight  when  they  reached  those  waters  clear, 
A  sight  that  e'en  to  lab'ring  men  is  dear. 
No  ripple  stirred  those  placid  waters  blue, 


|Jamta;  or  %  Ifofalg  'jjlittmt.  123 

In  Germany  e'en  such  scenes  are  very  few. 
The  weeping  willow  clasped  those  waters  calm, 
And  sweetly  scented  was  the  air  with  balm  ; 
From  out  her  window  looked  the  moon  on  high, 

O      ' 

And  gazed  on  them  with  pensive,  smiling  eye. 
Then  they  dismounted  from  their  coursers  bold, 
(The  sight  has  splendor  more  than  halls  of  gold.) 
He  led  her  to  those  waters  clear  and  fair, 
She  looked,  and  saw  herself  reflected  there — 
The  blushing  cheeks,  those  eyes  of  azure  blue, 
Such  maidens  in  the  world  are  very  few. 
She  blushed,  and  hid  her  face  upon  his  breast, 
Alone  together  did  the  couple  rest, 
Alone,  sweet  word,  may  it  be  blest. 


XIX. 

THE    CASTLE. 

The  dusky  gray  of  dawn  was  spreading  fast, 
When,  tired,  they  reached  the  welcome  spot  at  last, 
And  to  the  maiden's  great  delight  it  stood 
Within  a  little,  shady,  flowering  wood, 


124  Hamta;  or  tbt 

Quite  o'ergrown  with  the  rose  and  eglantine, 
Close  by  the  waters  of  the  placid  Rhine. 
And  there  alone  with  him  she  did  abide, 
Constant  companions,  he  her  love  and  guide. 
Sir  Edward  was  a  painter,  you  must  know, 
He  tried  to  teach  sweet  Yanna  so  to  do. 


XX. 

THE    PICTURE. 

One  day  as  they  were  roaming  in  the  vale, 
While  flowers  sweet  did  scent  the  passing  gale, 
While  his  fair  brow  with  roses  sweet  was  graced, 
A  wreath  that  Yanna  wove,  and  had  there  placed, 
He  said  to  her,  "  Thou  never  to  me  told, 
The  thing  thou  keepest  sacred  more  than  gold, 
The  thing  thou  keepest  locked  up  in  thy  breast, 
Tell  me !  until  I  know  I  will  not  rest." 
"  Yes,"  said  the  maiden  fair,  "  and  so  I  will, 
But  keep  it  secret,  and  to  no  one  tell. 
It  is  a  picture  fair,  and  as  you  said, 
I  prize  it  more  than  gold  or  rubies  red, 


;  or  %  Ifrfrelg  ^icinre.  125 

And  here  it  is !"     She  plucked  it  from  her  breast. 
He  gazed  upon  the  picture  so  cherished — 
"  What,  then  !"  he  cried,  "  is  it  the  very  same 
That  I  myself  did  paint  ?     What !  that  again  ? 
Yes  !  'tis  the  same  !  the  very  same ! 
Yes  !  'tis  the  same  !  there  is  the  blotted  line  ! 
When  this  I  painted,  I  for  love  did  pine." 
And  still  the  youth  and  maid  lived  happily, 
And  if  more  of  them  ever  do  I  see 
I'll  tell  it  all  to  thee. 


Dramas* 


Hollmg  jsiant  (£ars  no 


February  21,  1871. 


Dramatis  Persona. 

SIRIUS,  Duke  of  Naples,  enemy'  to  Herold. 
ATLANTA,  Daughter  of  Sirius. 
HEROLD,  Lover  of  Atlanta. 
EGLANTINE,  Queen  of  Fairies. 

BALSAM, 

IVY 

SNOWBLOSSOM,  f  Fairies  attendin§  on 

ROSEBUD,          J 

ORANCS,  An  evil  spirit. 
DARING,  His  servant. 

SCENE,  Naples,  a  wood  near  by. 


12 


130  ^  c^oUing  Stone  (isihers  no  ptoss. 

ACT  I. 

SCENE  1. — A  room   in  SIRIUS'  palace.      ATLANTA  and 

HEROLD  together. 

Atlanta.     Hearken  !     Hither  comes  my  father  ! 
(Enter  SIRIUS.     Exeunt  HEROLD  and  ATLANTA,  running.) 
Sirius.     The  brute  !  the  beast !  I'll  have  him  yet.    (Sits 
down.)     Ha !  Ha  !  Ha  !     The  brute  !   (falls  asleep,  mutter 
ing,) — You  young  hound  !  you  hound,  you ! 

(  Curtain  falls.) 

ACT  II. 

SCENE  I.— The    Wood. 
Enter   SIRIUS    and  attendants.) 

Sirius.     Come,  go  away,  and  leave  me  to  my  solitude. 
(Exeunt  attendants.) 

(SiRius   lies  down  on  moss — sleeps.     Enter   EGLANTINE 

and  train.) 

Eglantine.     Ha  !  a  mortal  on  our  private  dancing  ring  ! 
Make  yourselves   invisible  ! 

(Fairies  draw  spider-web  cloaks  about  them.) 
Sirius  (in  his  sleep.)     The  brute  !    the  brute  !     Away 
with  him ! 


Q  polling  Stone  fathers  no  POSS.  131 

Eglantine.     Ha !  ha !  ha !  here  is  work  for  us  ! 
{Enter  ORANUS  with  DARING.     Sweet  music  is  heard.) 
Eglantine.     Hark  !  I  hear  the  bridal  bells  of  the  lily  of 
the  valley.  {Exeunt  EGLANTINE  and  train,  singing.) 

Far  o'er  the  blue  mountain, 
Beside  the  clear  fountain, 
'Neath  the  violets  sweet 
Speed  our  queer  elfin  feet. 
Of  anus.     Ha !  ha !  ha  ! 


SCENE  2. —  The  same. 
Enter  EGLANTINE  and  train. 
Eglantine,     (to  Ivy,  singing.) 

O'er  the  meadow  grasses  sweet, 
Quickly  speed  your  elfin  feet. 
Sprinkle  this  in  Sirius'  eyes 
When  upon  his  couch  he  lies. 
(  Gives  a  bottle.     Exit  IVY,  singing.) 
Ivy.     Who  can  quicker  run  than  I  ? 

With  pretty  golden  wings  I  fly  ; 

My  eyes  are  sharp  and  gray  and  keen. 

Among  the  forest  trees  I'm  seen. 


132  21  Boiling  S»tott.e  dailjjers  no  Hloss. 

ACT  HI. 

SCENE  1. — A  room  in   SIRITJS'  castle — Evening — SIRIUS 
sleeping  on  couch. 

Enter  IVY.  sprinkles  from  bottle  in   SIRIUS'    eyes.     Exit 
singing. 

Ivy. — Henceforth,  now,  he  will  adore  him, 
Choose  him  from  all  men  before  him. 

SCENE  2. — A    room  in    SIRITJS'   castle — ATLANTA    and 

HEROLD — SIRIUS  having  been  changed  in  the  night. 
Sirius.     Yes,  I  give   my  free  consent.     Take  her  and 
be  happy  ! 
(Exeunt  HEROLD  and  ATLANTA,  rejoicing.     SIRIUS  lies 

down,  falls  asleep,  says,) 

Sirius.     Fair  Herold  !  take  her,  good  man  !  be  happy  ! 
(Enter  DARING  with  bottle,  sprinkles  something  in  SIRIUS' 
eyes.     Exit.) 

SCENE  3. — A     Church.     ATLANTA   and   HEROLD   being 

married. 
Enter  SIRIUS,  having  been  changed  again  by  the  evil  spirit 

—  Rushes  forth,  drags  out  ATLANTA,  shouting — A  general 

uproar.         (  Curtain  falls.) 


^  polling  £iott£  <ia%rs  no  Utoss.  133 

ACT   IV. 

SCENE  1. — A  court  of  justice — Judge,  officers,  etc. — SIRIUS 
sitting  with  judge.     Enter  attendants  bringing  HEROLD. 

Sirius  (severely.)  What  meantest  them,  when  thou 
tookest  Atlanta  ? 

Herold.     My  lord,  I  had  your  free  consent. 

Sirius.  The  witch !  the  vile  wretch !  ( To  attend 
ants^)  take  him  away,  and  keep  him  close  !  (Exeunt.) 


ACT   V. 

SCENE  1. — A  prison — HEROLD  discovered  chained,  sitting 
disconsolately. 

Herold.     Oh,  my  Atlanta,  see  me  !    see  me ! 
(A  song  is  heard.     Enter  ROSEBUD  with  key,  delivers  it  to 
HEROLD,  singing.) 

Rosebud.     Fear  not  Herold,  young  and  brave, 
Take  this  key  and  you  'twill  save. 

(Exit  ROSEBUD.     HEROLD  unlocks  door  and  is  free.) 
12* 


134  ^  polling  Siotte  <$a%rs  no  gloss. 

SCENE  2. — The  wood. 
Enter  SIRIUS  owe?  HEROLD  at  opposite  doors. 

Sinus — (proudly.}     Fight  me  if  you  dare  !     A  stronger 
man  than  I  is  not  in  Naples  ! 
(They  fight.     HEROLD   stabs    SIRIUS,   who   falls.     Exit 

HEROLD.     Enter  EGLANTINE    and    train.     They  bear 

SIRIUS  away,  singing.) 

Here  is  the  once  proud  Sirius, 
Who  toward  his  mournful  end 

Was  very  near  delirious, 
And  haunted  by  a  fiend. 

ACT  VI. 

SCENE  1. — A  church — ATLANTA  and  HEROLD  being 

married. 

Enter  EGLANTINE  and  train,  singing, 
You'll  prosper  and  have  splendid  health, 
With  riches,  beauty,  friends  and  wealth. 
(Curtain  falls 


[0  (ise  <£rmit0  f0r  Sjnlltfr 


April,  1871. 


Dramatis  Persona. 

HESPERUS,  Prince  of  Liberia ;  lover  of  Camilla. 
HERCULES,  His  brother,  lover  of  Camilla. 
CAMILLA,  Countess  of  Venice,  love  to  Hercules. 
SICKLES,  Servant  of  Hesperus. 
STILLWATERS,  A  Clown. 
CUPID,  A  Fairy  Sprite. 

Station  Master,  Conductor,  Passengers  in  cars. 

Town  Boys. 

A  dog  belonging  to  Station  Master. 

SCENE,  Sometimes  in  Venice,  sometimes  in  Liberia, 


136  go  «s*  toying  for  Spilkb  Piik. 

ACT  I. 

SCENE  1. — A  wood  near  Venice.     CAMILLA  lying  on  the 
moss  beside  a  brook. 

Camilla.     Fain  would  I  drown  myself  beneath  thy  flood. 
Fain  fill  thy  waters  all  with  fallen  tears. 
Enter  HESPERUS. 

Hesperus.     Why  greet'st  thou,  fair  Camilla?    why  beside 
This  brooklet's  cool  and  babbling,  rippling  flow, 
Answer  me,  dearest,  what  doth  trouble  thee  ? 

Camilla.     'Tis  nought  but  folly,  do  not  ask  me,  pray. 

Hesperus.     Ah !  but  I  shall  before  I  go  away. 
Enter  SICKLES. 

Sickles.     I'm  bid  to  hail  you  to  dinner.          (Exeunt.} 

SCENE  2. — A  room    in  Camilla's  palace.    CAMILLA  and 

HESPERUS  together. 
Hesperus.     Why  doubting,  dearest  ?  come  to  me,  oh  do  ! 

From  every  hurtful  thing  I'll  shelter  you. 
Camilla — (rising.)     Propose,  oh  do  not !  for  my  heart  is 

sore ! 
Oh  haughty  Hesp'rus  do  not  to  me  more  ! 

(Exit.) 


$10  ®S£  (Drging  for  Spilleb  Pilk.  137 

Hesperus — (pacing  the  floor '.)      Sad  fate  for  me  ! 
Pale  sorrow  stares  me  in  the  face 
With  ghostly  looks  and  countenance  so  base. 
(  Curtain  falls.) 

SCENE  3. — A  wood  near  Venice.     CAMILLA  lying  on   the 

moss.     Enter  CUPID. 

Cupid.     I  dance  upon  the  brooklet's  foam, 
Among  the  tree-tops  do  I  roam, 
Upon  the  rushing  wind  I  ride, 
In  sweet  primroses  do  I  hide. 
Flowers  spring  up  where'er  I  go, 
I  wing  the  forest  to  and  fro, 
I  court  the  gentle  nymphs  at  eves, 
For  me  the  moss  a  carpet  weaves. 
Who  is  a  happier  fay  than  I, 
So  gay,  so  nimble,  and  so  shy  ? 

(Discovers  CAMILLA.) 
Who  be  this  that  lieth  here, 
On  her  cheek  a  fallen  tear? 
Ah,  it  is  Camilla  !     I  am  invisible. 
(Draws  a  cloak  of  butterfly  wings  about  him) 


138  $0  ®st  Urging  for 

Camilla — (to  herself.}     Propose,  oh  do  not !  for  my  heart 

is  sore ! 

Oh  haughty  Hesp'rus,  do  not  to  me  more. 
Cupid.     Ha !  ha  !  ha !  I  will  fix  her. 

(Dances  around  CAMILLA,  singing, 
Now  in  sleep,  Camilla  fair, 
Close  thine  eyelids  white  and  rare, 
Dream  of  love,  and  not  of  care. 
Hesp'rus  shall  win  thee  to  his  heart, 
For  I  will  fire  the  lover's  dart ! 
(CAMILLA  sleeps — CUPID  fires  dart — Exit  CUPID — Enter 

HESPEKUS — In  a  few  minutes  CAMILLA  awakes.} 
Camilla.     Where  am  I  ?  and  who  art  thou  ? 

Or  is  it  but  a  swaying  bough  ? 
Hesperus.     Dost  know  me  not,  my  pride,  my  love  ? 

Oh  list  to  me,  my  cooing  dove ! 
Camilla.     What  thou  ?  and  what  dost  here  alone  ? 
Hesperus.     The  same  question  I  myself  am  inclined  to  ask. 
Camilla.     I  was  but  roaming  'neath  the  forest  trees, 
And  listening  to  the  humming  of  the  bees  : 
I  laid  me  down  upon  this  soft  green  moss 
Where  I  could  watch  the  brooklet's  silvery  source, 
And  here  I  slumbered,  and  dreamt  such  a  dream 


$to  $s*  Urging  for  Spilleb  plilk.  139 

That  never  have  I  had,  it  now  doth  seem ; 

I  should  have  slumbered  longer  'neath  this  oak, 

But  you  came,  so  from  dreamland  I  awoke. 
Hesperus.     Come,  dear,  and  with  me  now  forever  roam, 

And  I  will  take  thee  to  Liberia  home. 
Camilla.     I  do   consent ;  I  give  you  this  ring ;  keep  it, 
and  remember  me. 


ACT  II. 

SCENE   1. — Liberia. 

(A  depot,  cars  just  stopping,  passengers  get  out,  among  them 
CAMILLA  and  HESPERUS.  HESPERUS  drops  ring. 
Exeunt  cars,  passengers,  station  master,  etc. ;  dog  stays 
behind — Enter  TOWN  BOYS,  laughing,  shouting,  and 
kicking  each  other — Dog  digs  in  hole — barks.) 

1st  Boy.     Here  Carlo  !    Carlo  !    Carlo  ! 
2«f  Boy.     A  rat,  perhaps. 
3d  Boy.     I'll  go  and  see. 
(Peeps   into   hole — calls  to  others — holding   up   gold  ring, 

shouts, 
A  ring  !  a  gold  ring  ! 


1  4°  fo  ®se  Urging  for  Spilleh  Iftilk. 


A  likely  story. 
2rf  -Soy-     Let  us  go  and  see  ! 
(Runs  up  to  SD  EOT,  shouts,  the  others  follow  —  they  quar 

rel  over  the  ring.     Enter  SICKLES.) 
Sickles.     What  meaneth  this  ? 
Boys.     A  ring  !  a  ring  ! 
Sickles.     Give  it  me.     (  They  give  ring.) 
That  be  my  master's,  and  no  other. 
Boys  (all  together.)     Give  it  me  ! 
Sickles.     I  will  not. 

(Exit  SICKLES,  pursued  by  BOYS.) 

ACT  in. 

SCENE  1.  —  Liberia,  a  room  in  HESPERUS'  palace.     HES 

PERUS  on  a  Couch. 

Hesperus.     Now  come  to  me,  thou  ring  of  gold, 
My  charge  I'll  keep,  my  charge  I'll  hold. 
What  ho  !  not  here  !  what  fate  ! 
What  meaneth  it  ?     Has  it  disappeared  ?     (Rings.) 

Enter  STILLWATERS. 
Hesperus.     Hast  seen  a  ring  ? 
Stillwaters.     A  ring  ?     Of  course,  who  has  not  ? 
Hesperus  (impatiently.)     I  mean  a  ring  dropped  on  the 
ground. 


$fr  "iSse  Urging  for  ^ptlleb  |flilk.  141 

Stillwaters.     Upon  the  ground  ?     Certainly,  at  the  circus. 
Hesperus.     There's  none  to  be  got  from  you ! 

Go  find  my  trusty  servant.     (Exit  STILL  WATERS-^) 

Oh,  cruel  fate  !  oh,  weeping  I ! 
Oh,  that  to  my  love  might  I  fly  ! 
How  can  I  tell  her  this  sad  news ! 
Oh,  fate  !  sadly  dost  thou  abuse  ! 

Re-enter  STILLWATERS. 

Hast  found  him  ? 

Stillwaters.     He  is  nowhere  to  be  seen. 
Hesperus.     Don't  tell  me  that,  thou  rascal ! 

Till  that  ring  be  found.  (Exit  STILLWATERS.) 

Enter  CAMILLA. 
CamiUa.     Dearest,  how  comest  on  ? 

(HESPERUS  shows  hand.) 

What !  didst  not  keep  it !  Then  thou  art  not  true  to 
me.  Oh  Hesperus,  when  I  first  woke  in  that  wood,  1 
thought  myself  with  one  who  loved  me  as  his  own  soul. 

(Exeunt.) 

13 


142  $fo  ®sc  Urging  for 


ACT  IV. 

SCENE  1.  —  Liberia.     A  room  in  the  palace  of  HERCULES. 
HERCULES  alone. 

Hercules.     I'll  taste  not!     Oh,  I'll  drink  not  ! 

Camilla,  for  love  of  thee  ; 
For  e'er  thy  winning  picture 
Haunteth  so,  still  round  me. 
I'll  haste  to  my  Camilla, 

Though  winds  may  blow  and  howl, 
I'll  win  her  to  a  full  heart, 
The  marriage  bells  shall  toll. 

(Exit.      Curtain  falls.} 

SCENE  2.  —  Venice.     A  room   in    CAMILLA'S   palace. 
CAMILLA  alone.     Enter  HERCULES. 

Hercules.     Oh  Camilla  !  oh  Camilla  !  if  thou  wouldst  but 

come  to  me  ! 
Then  Camilla  !    then    my  mistress  !    we  parted  shall 

never  be  ! 

Camilla.     Readily  do  I  consent, 
Joyfully  do  I  repent 
Of  my  former  folly. 


$o  ®se  Urging  for  Spillcb  gTilk.  143 

Oh  that  I  had  taken  thee  before, 
None  can  ever  love  me  more 

Than  thou,  Hercules ! 
Hercules.     Then  come  with  me.  (Exeunt.') 

SCENE.  3. — A  church.     HESPERUS  and  CAMILLA 
married. 

ACT  V. 

SCENE  1. — Liberia.     A  room  in  HESPERUS'  palace. 
HESPERUS  alone,  weeping.     Enter  SICKLES. 

Sickles.     The  ring !  the  ring  ! 
Hesperus.     The  ring!  give  it  me! 
Sickles.     There  is  no  hope.     They  are  married  ! 
Hesperus.     Who  ? 
Sickles.     Camilla  and  Hercules. 

Hesperus.     Then  is   she  lost  to   me  ?     Then  bring  me 
my  sword. 

(Sickles  brings  sword.     HESPERUS  stabs  himself.     Dies.) 

(Curtain  falls.} 


%  fling  0f  Jfaxrg-^anb. 

A  Drama  written  for  All-Hallo w-e'en. 
October,  1871. 


Dramatis  Personce. 

VICTOR,  King  of  Fairy-Land. 

NIGHTSHADE,  an  old  Wizard,  King  of  Gloom-Land. 

GENU,  King  of  Summer-Land. 

JUNIOR,  a  Sylphid,  bosom  friend  of  Victor. 

JEROLD,  a  Baron,  father  of  Victor. 

HYACINTH,  a  wealthy  Count  of  Fairy-Land. 

GAUNTLET,  a  Sylphid. 

SLY,  a  Fairy  Hunter,  friend  of  Gauntlet. 

BLANCHE,  daughter  of  Count  Hyacinth. 

EVA,  daughter  of  Victor. 

A  Congress,  numerous   Fairies,  Sylphids,  Soldiers, 

and  Hunters. 

SCENE,  Sometimes  in  Fairy-Land,  sometimes  in  Summer- 
Land,  sometimes  in  Gloom-Land,  and  sometimes  in  the 
air. 


Victor,  tlje  Jltttg  of  Jairjr-^anb.  145 

ACT  I. 

SCENE  1. — Fairy- Land,  A  wood.  Curtain  rises  to  a 
hunter's  bugle.  KING  VICTOR  and  hunters.  A  song 
heard  from  without. 

Song. 

Where  the  modest  violet  bloometh, 

Where  the  zephyr  she  perfumeth. 

Here  I  lie  day  after  day, 

Listing  to  the  robin's  lay. 

Come  quiet  thought,  fling  care  away, 

Come  sweet-voiced,  laughing  joy,  so  gay, 

Come,  come,  come  away, 

And  weave  a  gentle  dream  for  me 

While  I  slumber  'neath  this  tree. 

Victor.     Heard  I  the  sweet-voiced  robin's  merry  trill  ? 
Heard  I  the  gurgling  of  the  mountain  rill  ? 
No  such  song  issues  from  the  robin's  bill ; 
The  rill's  song  never  does  my  bosom  fill 
With  such  a  strange,  prophetic,  sudden  thrill, 
Nor  ever  could,  nor  ever,  ever  will. 
Hark  !  silence,  hunters,  list !  I  hear  it  still, 
Stay  there  till  I  come  back,  which  soon  I  will. 
13*  (Exit.) 


146  Victor,  i\t  Jting  of  4fain7-|tmtb. 

SCKNE  2. —  Curtain  rises  to  soft  music.     Another  part  of 
the  wood  near  by.     BLANCHE  asleep.     Enter  VICTOR. 

Victor.     What  have  we  here  ?  a  sleeping  angel  fair  ? 
My  kin  do  never  have  such  silken  hair. 
These  thoughtful,  meaning  eyes  are  fairer  far 
To  have  than  my  kinswomen  ever  dare. 
This  truly  is  the  sleeping  beauty  rare, 
But  fairer,  fairer  than  the  prince  found  e'er. 
This  form's  too  lovely  for  e'en  fairy  land. 
But  o'er  thee,  vision  sweet,  too  long  I  stand, 
Yet  here's  a  violet  for  thy  lily  hand. 
Sweet  melody,  to  you  be  well-a-day, 
'Tis  dangerous,  eaves-dropper,  long  to  play. 

(Exit.) 

Blanche  (awakening.)     What  sprites  have  been  here  while 

I  slumbered  sweet  ? 

Hark !  I  do  hear  sounds  of  retreating  feet ! 
Who  placed  in  my  hand  this  violet  ? 
Say,  be  it  enemy,  or  be  it  friend  ? 
Be  it  a  harmless  fay,  or  evil  fiend  ? 
I  like  not  this.     It  ne'er  was  so  before, 
I  am  afeared,  my  heart  is  troubled  sore.         (Exit.) 


Victor,  %  Jlhttj  of  ^airg-^anit.  147 

SCENE  3. —  Curtain  rises  to  a  hunter's  bugle.  The  former 
part  of  the  wood.  Enter  KING  VICTOR  and  HUNTERS, 
among  them  SLY. 

King  (aside.)     I  will  to  see  again  that  vision  fair. 

(aloud. )     I'll  soon  come  back,  my  hunters,  stay   you 

there.  (Exit.) 

1st  Hunter.     To  me  it  seems  the  king  doth   favor  hunting. 
2d  Hunter.     Aye ;  especially  in  this  part  of  the  wood. 
Sly.     I  would  know  what  the  good  game  be  that  our  king 

delighteth  in. 

3d  Hunter.     Which  we  have  no  part  in. 
Sly.     I've  a  mind  to  try  my  bow  at  that  game. 
Hunters.     Go. 

Sly.     Aye,  that  I  will.  (Exit  SLY.) 

1  st  Hunter.     He  is  the  best  to  try  that  uncertain  game,  for 

sharper  than  his  arrow  is  his  eye,  and  soft  and   fleet 

his  footstep  as  any  lady  fay.  (Exeunt.) 

SCENE  4. —  The  other  part  of  the  wood.      Curtain  rises  to 
soft  music.     Enter  BLANCHE. 

Blanche.     Now  I'll  lie  as  if  in  sweetest  sleep, 

I'll  close  mine  eyes  in  seeming  slumbers  deep, 


H8  tf'kior,  %  llhtg  of 

But  all  the  while  a  wakeful  watch  I'll  keep. 
To  see  if  I  the  spirit  can  discover 

"Who  doth  hover 

My  bed  over, 
While  I  sleep  amid  the  clover. 

(Sings.) 

Where  the  bee  so  softly  hummeth, 

Where  the  little  brooklet  runneth, 

I  lie  watching  the  sunbeam 

In  the  brooklet's  waters  gleam  ; 

And  I  sleep  in  slumbers  sweet, 

While  pleasant  dreams  my  mind  do  greet. 

(Seems  to  sleep.) 
Enter  VICTOR. 
Victor.     Ah  !  here's  the  tuneful  robin  in  her  nest, 

(bending  over  her)     Sweet  songster,  of  all  fays  I  love 

thee  best. 

Blanche.     Ha !  I  have  thee ! 
Victor.     What  ho !  I  thought  thee  asleep. 

Sweet  songster  of  the  wood,  prithee,  who  art  ? 
Blanche.     I  am  the  daughter  of  a  Count, 

Hyacinth  by  name.     Dost  recollect  him  ? 


$idor,  %  Jling  of  cfatrg-^anb.  149 


Victor.     I  think  I  do.     He  is  a  worthy  fellow,  if  I  rightly 
remember. 

{Enter  SLY  at  a  distance,  concealed.) 

Blanche.     But  say,  who  art  thou  that  troublest  my  sleep  ? 

Victor.     I  would  that  voice  were  mine  ! 

Blanche.     Tell  me  who  art,  thou  bold,  gay,  gallant  youth, 
Or  I'll  bind  thee  with  my  strongest  spell  ! 

Victor.     Thy  spells  of  no  avail  are.     I'm  more  strong 
Than  any  at  your  command  were  wove. 
Yet  would  I  joy  to  be  bound  with  a  spell 
Which  was  constructed  from  the  sweet  command 
That  issued  from  thy  wind-like  voice,  fair  lady. 

Blanche.     Who  art  thou  ?     I  am  half  afeared  of  thee  ! 

Victor.     I  am  thy  desparing,  sighing  lover  sad. 

Blanche.     Tell  me  who  art,  or  I  will  flee  from  thee. 

Victor.     Then  I  will  out.     Thy  king  and  lover  I'm. 

Blanche.     What  didst  thou  say  ?     Thy  name's  not  Victor, 
sure? 

Victor.     Aye,  that  it  is.     Come  fairest,  wilt  be  mine  ? 

Blanche.     Oh,  pardon  !  pardon  !  pardon  !  gracious  king  ! 

Victor.     Kneel  not,  but  say,  "  Dearest,  I  will  be  thine." 

Blanche.     I  did  not  think  I  were   so  bold  —  and  yet 


15°  $itiar,  %  Jlittg  of  Jfainj-lTstt&. 

I  thy  unmeek  request  will  grant,  and  be 

Thy  humble,  loyal,  modest,  mistress  meek. 
Victor.     Nay,  but  my  prattling,  happy,  gentle  wife   and 

queen. 

Blanche     That  will  I  be  if  'tis  my  father's  wish. 
Sly  (makes  a  low  chuckle.) 
Blanche.     What  noise  heard  I  ? 
Victor.     Naught  but  the  little  rill.     Come,  dearest,  come 

with  me.  (Exeunt.) 

ACT  II. 

SCENE  1.  —  Summer-Land.  A  garden  of  Junior's. 
GAUNTLET  at  a  little  distance.  Enter  JUNIOR,  reading 
a  letter. 

Junior,  (not  observing  GAUNTLET,  reads  aloud.) 
"  Methought  it  was  an  angel  fair  that  slept, 
Silent  I  stood  in  rapturous  wonder  rapt. 
Then  knowing  that  the  sleeper  wakens  soon, 
I  plucked  a  violet  that  nigh  did  bloom, 
And  placed  it  in  her  hand,  and  quick  did  fly, 
Just  as  the  sleeper,  startled,  oped  her  eye. 
For  me,  methought,  she  were  the  very  bride, 
Seemingly  free  from  every  vice  and  pride." 


,  %  Jiing  of  cfairg-ltanb.  151 

Gauntlet  (aside.)     I   will  withdraw   and   overhear   these 
words. 

Junior.     I  will  directly  answer. 

(  Writes,  and  reads  aloud.) 
I  counsel  thee  to  first  find  who  she  is, 
Seek  her  and  find  her  parentage  and  name, 
For  she  may  be  some  foul  fiend  in  disguise, 
Who  seeks  to  play  a  dangerous  trick  on  thee. 
And  if  she  suit  thee,  win  her  to  thy  heart, 
But  win  her  first,  befoi-e  thou  tell  thy  name, 
For  maidens  oft  refuse  when  they  do  find 
Their  lover  is  some  one  of  high  estate. 
If  thou  wilt  follow  these  my  counsels,  then 
Wilt  thou  find  good  and  prosperous  success ; 
And  so,  adieu.     From  Junior,  thy  dear  friend, 
Whose  love  for  thee  will  never,  never  end. 

(Exeunt.) 

SCENE  2. — In  the  Air.     GAUNTLET.     Enter  SLY. 

Gauntlet.     Ha  !  ha !  my  friend !  and  how  dost  do  to-day  ? 
Sly.     Quite  well !     But  dost  thou  know  the  bonny  news  ? 
Gauntlet.     Nay  !  tell  me  quick,  for  I  must  soon  be  off. 
Sly.     Well,  in  good  hunting-time  the  king,  myself, 


i52  Victor,  %  Jiing  of  ^ai 

And  all  we  hunters  were  within  the  wood, 
When  we  did  hear  as  sweet  a  song  as  e'er 
Awoke  the  heavens  to  resound  it  well. 

Gauntlet.     Proceed!  Proceed! 

Sly.     The  king  was  raptured,  and  immediately 
He  left  us  and  in  search  of  it  did  go, 
But  soon  returned,  excited  and  well  flushed, 
As  if  some  secret  swelled  within  his  breast ; 
And  that  day  spake  he  incoherently, 
And  spent  his  time  in  pensive,  lonesome  mood. 
The  next  day  went  we  hunting  in  that  wood, 
We  heard  another  song,  and  eagerly 
He  listened.     And  when  it  did  close,  at  once 
Cautiously  stepped  he  till  far  out  of  sight. 
Said  I,  "  I  fain  would  know  what  this  all  means," 
And  stepping  cautiously,  as  did  the  king, 
I  saw  a  sight  that  made  me  chuckle,  near, 
A  maiden,  oh  !  so  smiling  and  so  fair  ! 
That  hid  the  sun  behind  a  fleecy  cloud  : 
And  bending  over  her  the  king  I  saw, 
And  in  his  eyes  I  read  the  tale  of  love, 
And  I  know  it  will  not  be  long  before 
A  maiden  fair  will  be  our  king's  sweet  queen. 


Victor,  %  Jiing  of  Jairg-ITanb.  153 

I  quite  forgot  myself  and  laughed  aloud. 

She  started,  but  the  king  did  nothing  hear. 

Was  I  not  glad  when  they  did  disappear ! 

Ha  !  ha  !  to  think  that  no  one  knows  but  me  ! 
Gauntlet.     In  one  thing  art  thou  mistaken. 

I  have  a  voice  in  this  matter  ; 

For  I  did  overhear  a  letter  read 

By  Junior,  bosom  friend  of  Victor,  know, 

Enough  to  make  me  curious,  and  so 

I  unobserved  withdrew  and  overheard, 

Which  made  me  strangely  to  suspect  the  more, 

Because  he  answered  it,  and  read  aloud. 
Sly.     Now  for  the  fun  of  it,  let's  tell  his  sire, 

For  Victor  would  have  told  him  long  ago 

If  he'd  a  mind  to.     So  let's  him  surprise 

By  getting  his  old  father  in  a  rage. 

Gauntlet.     But  what  if  we  be  caught  ?     Risk  not  too  much. 
Sly.     Was  I  ever  caught  ?     Let  us  to  Jerold.      (Exeunt.) 

SCENE  3. — Fairy-Land.     A  room  in  the  palace  of  Jerold. 
JEROLD.     Enter  a  FAIRY. 

Jerold.     What  is  it  thou  dost  want  ? 

Fairy.     My  lord,  there  are  two  without  who  would  speak 

with  thee. 
14 


154  Victor,  fyt  Jiiitg  of  Jfair 

Jerold.     Who  are  they  ? 

Fairy.     Methinks  one  of  them  is  Sly,  the  hunter.     The 
other  I  know  not. 

Jerold.     Bring  them  hither.  (Exit  FAIRY.) 

I  suspect  something  is  not  right. 

Enter  SLY  and  GAUNTLET. 
What  dost  want  ? 

Gauntlet  (to  Sly.)     Speak  thou  first. 

Sly.     Dost  notice  that  the  king  doth  favor  hunting  ? 

Jerold.     Aye,  aye,  proceed. 

Sly.     The  king  hath  found  a  new   hunting-ground,  and  a 
new  kind  of  game. 

Jerold.     What  dost  thou  mean  ? 

Sly.  Cupid  hath  led  thy  son  to  the  field  of  love,  where 
he  trieth  his  bow  at  a  maiden  whose  name  I  know 
not.  He'll  not  be  long  without  a  queen,  my  lord. 

Jerold.     What  maiden  didst  thou  say  ? 

Sly.  I  know  not.  It  seemeth  'twere  best  to  question 
him.  Who  knows  what  the  maiden  might  be  ?  For 
all  that  she  puts  on  a  pleasing  countenance,  I  like 
her  not.  Aye,  my  lord,  I  saw  her  consent  to  be  his 
bride. 

Jerold.     Without  my  knowledge  and  consent ! 


ftittot,  %  Jling  of  Jmrg-ITanb.  i$5 

Sly.     Aye,  my  lord. 

Jerold.  Right  glad  am  I  thou  told  me  this.  Hither,  my 
trusty  servant.  (Enter  a  fairy.)  Go  thou  and  tell  the 
king  I  would  speak  with  him.  (Exit  fairy.)  We 

shall  soon  see. 

Enter  VICTOR. 

Victor.     Good  morrow,  my  father  !     All  does  not  seem  to 

be  right. 

Jerold.     Good  morrow  !     What  hast  been  doing  lately  ? 
Victor.     I  have  been  boating,  hunting,  taking  journeys  to 
summer-land  in  the  evening.     In  the  day-time  I  work 
as  do  other  fays,  and  in  sleeping-time  I  sleep — 
Rocked  by  the  wind  in  the  lily  pale, 
Lulled  by  the  voice  of  the  nightingale. 
Jerold.     Where  hast  been  hunting  ? 

Victor.  In  the  woods,  of  course.  By  the  way,  dost  know 
of  the  great  accident  that  happened  in  the  bee- 
hunter's  garden  ? 

Jerold.     Nay,  but  tell  me  where  hast  been  hunting  ? 
\  'iff  or.     In  the  woods,  father.  Did  I  not  tell  thee  ?  But — 
Jerold.     What  didst  thou  shoot? 
Victor.     Why,  we  were  after  humming  birds  ;  now  I  think 

of  it— 
Jerold.     Nay  ;  but  tell  what  luck  didst  thou  meet  with  ? 


156  Bitter,  %  Jlhig  of 

Victor.     Splendid  luck  !  we  caught  three  apiece. 
Jerold.     Dost  recognize  this  fay?     (SLY  comes  forward.) 
Victor.     Aye,  sir ;  he  is  one  of  my  best  hunters. 
Jerold.     He  declareth  that  he  saw  thee  hunting  a  strange 
maiden  in  the  field  of  love !     Is  that  so  ?  without  my 
consent  or  knowledge  ? 
Victor.     What,  ho  !  how  came  this  known  ? 
Jerold.     But  say,  hast  thou  ? 

Victor.     Aye,  my  lord ;  I  have  captured  as  lovely  a  maid 
en  as  ever  breathed  ! 

Jerold.     Oh,  thou  rogue !     Who  may  she  be  ? 
Victor.     Her  name  is  Blanche.     She  is  daughter  to  Count 

Hyacinth.     Methinks  thou  knowest  him. 
Jerold.     What,  he  ?     I  never  had  better  friend  than  he  ! 

Bring  her  hither. 

Victor.     Aye,  that  I  will.  (Exit  VICTOR.) 

Jerold.     This  land   doth   roll  through   many  a  wondrous 

course, 
But  stranger  still  life's  ever  changeful  way. 

(Soft  music.) 

Enter  BLANCHE,  VICTOR,  and  FAIRIES  attending.    BLAN 
CHE  and  VICTOR  kneel  to  JEROLD. 


Ifitior,  %  JUng  of  ^airg-^anb.  157 


Jerold.     Look  down,  oh  Jove  !  pronounce  thy  blessing  on 

this  pair, 

And  Hymen  !  waft  the  couple  into  one  ! 
And  Venus  !  in  their  hearts  inspire 
Love's  ardent,  joining,  warm,  sweet  fire. 
Cupid  !  he  hath  done  his  part, 
For  he  hath  fired  his  gilded  dart 
Into  cither's  loving  heart. 

(FAIRIES  sing  in  chorus.) 
Song. 

Queen,  we  sweetly  welcome  thee, 

Loving  subjects  will  we  be, 

Ever  waiting  at  thy  will, 

None  could  better  thy  place  fill. 

We'll  gather  thee  the  sweetest  flowers 

That  ever  grew  in  fairy  bowers. 

We  will  waft  thee  as  sweet  and  refreshing  breeze 

As  ever  played  round  the  orange  trees. 

We  will  feed  thee  with  honey,  and  tell  thee  many  a 

tale, 
Have  thee  sung  to  sleep  by  a  nightingale. 

We  will  dance  for  thee  on  the  smooth  bright  green, 
14* 


158  %'utOT,  %  Jting  of 

So  welcome,  welcome,  welcome  sweet  queen. 
Victor.     Now  crown  her  with  the  fairest  wreath 
Of  violets  and  baby's  breath ! 

(She  is  crowned.     Exeunt.} 

ACT  HI. 

(  Two  or  three  hundred  years  after.) 

SCENE  1. — Fairy-Land.     A  room  in  the  palace  of  VICTOR. 
VICTOR,  BLANCHE,  and  EVA. 

Victor  (to  Eva.)     Where  doth  thy  work  lie  to-day,  my  pet  ? 

Eva.     To-day  I  sweep  the  cobwebs  from  the  sky, 

Those  that  the  gloom-fays  build  from  cloud  to  cloud, 
To  interfere  with  our  most  just  exploits. 

Blanche.     I  fear  to  have  thee  go,  I  know  not  why ; 
Adieu  !  may  nothing  harm  my  Evening  Star ! 
What  is  this  strange,  unwonted,  half-felt  fear  ? 
Why  do  I  stay  mine  arms  about  thy  neck  ? 
Some  secret  feeling  prompts  me  so  to  do. 
Let  not,  oh  Jove !  these  dark,  proud,  star-like  eyes. 
This  queenly  forehead,  and  these  snow-white  arms, 
This  heart,  which  proudly  beats  most  royal  blood, 
Fade  from  my  sight !  God  keep  my  Evening  Star ! 


,  ilj£  Jling  of  Jmrjj-JTanb.  1 59 

Victor.     Thy  fears  are  vain,  for  in  a  mother's  breast 

Fears  often  reign  when  there  no  danger  is. 
Eva.     I  must  be  gone.     Adieu  !  adieu  !  adieu ! 

(Exit  EVA.) 

Blanche.     I'll  shake  this  trouble  off,  foolish  am  I, 
What  harm  can  reach  my  gentle  Evening  Star  ? 
Her  smile  would  charm  away  the  evil  fiend, 
What  creature  ever  dares  to  harm  the  pure  ? 

(Exeunt.) 

SCENE  2. — In  the  air  above  Fairy-Land.  Above,  the  pleas 
ure  garden,  royal  palace,  and  Counts  castle.  Enter 
EVA,  returning  from  her  work. 

Eva.     I  fain  would  rest  my  weary  self  awhile, 

Pillowed  upon  some  fleet-winged,  secret  cloud ; 
For  to  the  wearied  soul  there's  nought  like  sleep. 
Then  doth  the  mind  on  fleetest,  softest  wings 
Flee  to  the  bright  domain  of  dreamland  ;  there 
To  roam  through  most  exquisite  gardens  fair. 
To  taste  delicious  fruit,  to  rest  in  bowers 
Where  grow  most  brilliant  and  most  fragrant  flowers. 
But  I  must  go,  for  something  prompts  me  on  ; 
Besides,  a  fear  reigns  in  my  mother's  breast, 


160  $idor,  %  |ling  of  Jmr 

Aud  I  would  not  affright  her  in  the  least 
More  than  I  have  by  lingering  for  rest — 
I  am  afeared  I've  e'en  now  stayed  too  long. 

(As  she  is  about  to  go,  horrible  sounds.     Enter  NIGHT 
SHADE.) 

Nightshade.     What  art  doing  here  ?     Ifthou  tellest  not 
I'll  crush  thee  like  a  worm  to  the  ground. 

Eva.     I  went  to  sweep  the  cobwebs  from  the  sky. 

Nightshade.     That  did  1  not  forbid  thee  long  ago  ? 
Those  cobwebs  by  incessant  labor  hard 
Were  built  at  last,  by  my  hard  working  fays. 
All  only  to  be  swept  by  evil  hands  ! 

Eva.     Your  grace.  I  pardon  beg.     I  knew  it  not. 

Nightshade.     Thy  father  knew  it  if  didst  not  thyself. 
It  comes  back  on  thee.     So  I'll  punish  thee. 
Thou'lt  have  no  voice  except  the  dashing  sound 
Of  thy  dark  waves  on  the  resounding  shore. 
Thy  waves  shall  dance,  but  never,  never  more 
Thy  fleet  foot  on  the  smooth  cut  ring  of  green 
Shall  keep  time  to  the  nightingale's  sweet  voice  ! 
No  more !  I'll  soon  have  thee  from  off  my  hands. 

(  Touches  her  with  his  wand.     A  river  flows  from  her  month 

into  Fairy- Land.     Enter  a  Fairy  at  a  distance. 

observing  them.) 


,  %  Jihtg  of  Jfairu-JTanb.  161 

Fairy  (aside.)  What  does  this  mean  ?  She  surely  can 
not  be  the  king's  daughter  ?  As  for  the  other,  I 
know  him  too  well ! 

Eva.     May  God  avenge  the  evil  work  which  the  treacher 
ous  hath  wrought  upon  the  innocent ! 
(As  she   sinks   into   the  river,  low  moanings,  hideous 
noises,  and  mocking  laughter  are  heard.  Exeunt.) 

SCENE  3. — Fairy-Land.     A  room  in  the  palace  of  VICTOR. 
VICTOR  and  BLANCHE. 

Blanche.     My  trouble  more  increases.     Some  time  past 
I  felt  a  sudden  shock  come  o'er  my  mind ; 
And  I  did  seem  to  weep  within  myself. 
Take  warning,  dearest,  all  cannot  be  right. 
Victor.     I  thought  thou  wouldst  forget  it  in  thy  work. 
Blanche.     Ah,  no  !  it  only  clings  to  me  the  more. 
Victor.     Then  'tis  a  real  feeling — though  'tis  strange 
That  no  such  fear  within  my  breast  doth  range. 
Blanche.     None  but  a  mother  knows  a  mother's  fear. 

Enter  a  FAIRY. 
Fairy.     My  lord,   there  is  one  who  wishes  to  speak  with 

thee. 
Victor.     Bring  him  directly.  (Exit  FAIRY.) 


162  Victor,  %  Jiing  oi  Jairg-^anb. 

Blanche.     My  breast  throbs  quickly,  and  my  breath  comes 

thick, 
And  now  methinks  some  evidence  we'll  get. 

Victor.     A  little  secret  fear  now  seems  to  cross 

My  troubled  mind.     Dear  wife,  all  is  not  right. 
Enter  the  FA*Y,  flushed  and  excited. 

Fay.     Sad  news,  my  lord  ! 

Victor.     Proceed,  quickly ! 

Fay.     I  busy  roamed  about  the  drowsy  sky, 

Plucking  the  dew  drops  from  the  silver  clouds, 
I  saw  your  daughter,  and  old  Nightshade  by. 
A  river  flowed  from  out  her  firm  blanched  lips 
Into  this  land,  and  she  sank  in  and  drowned ; 
And  mocking  laughter  heard  was  all  around, 
And  hideous  noises,  and  a  moaning  sound. 
And  first  I  quickly  came  to  tell  you  it. 

(BLANCHE  swoons.) 

Weep  not,  my  lord,  one  for  the  best  must  hope. 
Victor.     Oh  !  why  should  it  be  she  !     She  snatched  away 
All  in  her  lovely  bloom  of  maidenhood  ! 
Oh  bitter  disappointment !     I  had  thought 
One  day  to  place  upon  her  head  the  crown  ! 
No  maid  in  elf-land  is  as  fair  as  she ! 


Victor,  %  Jihtg  of  Jmrg-lTattb.  163 

What  fairy  has  such  tranquil,  lake-like  eyes  ? 
I  oft  at  hearing  her  sweet  voice  was  tricked, 
Thinking  her  some  sweet  mavis  singing  gay  ! 
But  no  !  the  mavis  doth  no  sorrow  know  ! 
Ah !  happy  hird !  I'd  willingly  exchange 
My  royal  robes  and  crown  for  thy  light  heart! 
Alas  !  alas !  oh  fate,  thou'rt  terrible  ! 

(He  weeps.) 

F«iry.     Take  it  not  so,  my  lord,  'tis  for  the  best. 
Thou  art  as  weak  at  heart  as  thy  fair  wife. 
For  shame  !  look  you  where  she  doth  swooning  lie, 
Whilst  thou,  who  ought'st  to  keep  thy  courage  up 
Dost  show  a  nature  cowardly  and  weak, 
Which  sets  a  bad  example  to  thy  fays. 
Thou,  who  shouldst  be  most  strong,  art  faltering. 
Cheer  up,  and  strengthen  yet  thy  courage  well ! 
Victor.     I  thank  thee,  noble  fay,  for  thy  brave  hint, 
I  am  ashamed ;  I'll  get  my  courage  up. 
But  oh  ?  it  came  so  sudden.     'Twas  a  shock 
That  drove  me  from  my  senses,  and  made  me 
As  weak  and  faltering  as  womankind. 
( To  attendants.)      Bear  her  away,  and  attend  her  in 
her  swoon.  (Exeunt.) 


164  Victor,  %  Jling  of 


SCENE  4.  —  The  same.     In  the   House  of  Representatives. 
VICTOR,  BLANCHE,  and  all  the  FAYS  of  Fairy-Land. 

Victor  (rises  and  reads.) 

Public  Act  of  the  Fairy-Land  Congress  : 
Owing  to  the  turning  of  my  daughter  Eva  into  a  river 
by  Nightshade,  present  king  of  Gloom-land,  and  for 
various  past  injuries  done  by  him,  I,  Victor,  present 
king  of  Fairy-Land,  do  now,  before  my  kingdom, 
solemnly  declare  war  against  the  above-named  Night 
shade. 

All.     Hurrah  !  hurrah  ! 

Victor.     And  now,  brethren,  as  our  force  is  small,  I  move 
that  we  request  Summer-Land  to  join  with  us. 

All.     Agreed. 

Victor.     And  let  us  fight  our  noblest,  bravest  fight, 
And  trample  down  the  foe  with  scornful  foot. 
Long  may  the  dauntless  yellow,  black  and  blue 
Wave  o'er  the  warriors  brave  of  Fairy-  Land  ! 
"We'll  be  the  dauntless  dandelions  brave, 
Which,  after  being  trampled  under  foot 
Spring  up  again  as  daring  as  before. 
We'll  bring  our  evil  foe  to  very  shame, 


$"kt0r,  i\t  Jiittjj  of  Jmrg-Jtanb.  165 

And  he  that  once  did  laugh  at  us  with  scorn 
Shall  kneel  and  beg  for  mercy  at  our  feet ! 

AH.  Hurrah !  hurrah !  Long  may  the  yellow,  black, 
and  blue,  wave  above  Elf-Land !  Long  live  King 
Victor !  Long  live  Queen  Blanche !  Long  let  the 
crown  sparkle  upon  their  brows  !  Hurrah !  hurrah ! 

Victor.     God  lead  us  !  (Exeunt.) 

ACT  IV. 

SCENE  1. — Summer- Land.     In  the  palace  of  GENU. 
GENU  and  all  the  STLPHIDS  of  Summer-Land. 

Genu  (rising.)  I  have  received  a  letter  from  Fairy-Land 
informing  me  that  Victor  hath  declared  war  against 
Gloom-Land,  being  very  wrathful  at  Nightshade  for 
the  changing  of  his  daughter  into  a  river.  As  their 
force  is  small,  they  request  us  to  aid  them  with  a  small 
army.  Now  what  shall  we  do  ?  Shall  we  let  them 
fight  and  weep,  while  we  lie  comfortably  enjoying 
ourselves  ? 

Sylphids.  No !  no  !  we  will  shed  our  blood  for  the  rights 
of  Fairy-Land. 

Genu.     That  is  right.     We  will  not  be  cowardly.     Let  us 
15 


166  $irt0r,  %  Jimg  of 

gather  together  five   millions  of  brave  Sylphids.     I 

will  go  myself. 

Sylphids.     Nay  !  double  the  five  millions. 
Genu.     My  noble  people  !    I  am  proud  of  you  !     Let  us 

nobly  tread  upon  the  enemies  of  Fairy-Land. 
Sylphids.     Aye  !  aye !     Hurrah  !  hurrah  !  hurrah ! 

(Exeunt.) 

SCENE  2. — In  the  Air.  War  music.  Enter  at  opposite 
doors  the  armies  of  Summer-Land  and  Fairy-Land,  com 
manded  by  VICTOR  and  GENU. 

Victor.     Noble  Genu !     We  thank  thee  fervently  for  this. 

We  feel  that  we  need  thee,  though  we  have  no  claims. 
Genu.     It  is  just.     Dost  thou  think  us  so  cowardly  as  to 

sit  idly  lolling  around,  whilst  thou  dost  struggle  on  the 

battle-field  ?     Nay  !  we  hope  not ! 

(Horrible  music  heard  from  without.) 

Hark  !  the  enemy  is  approaching.         (Exeunt.) 

SCENE  3. —  Gloom-Land.      On  a  plain.     Enter  a  GLOOM- 
FAIRY  and  a  SOLDIER  of  Gloom-Land. 

Gloomfairy.     How  goes  the  war  ? 

Soldier.     Poorly.     Fairy-Land  has  the  upper  hand.  What 
think  you  ?     Summer-Land  hath  joined  it ! 


,  %  Jihtg  of  Jwrg-lTanb.  167 

Gloom/ay.     Dost  thou  speak  truth  ? 

Soldier.     Aye,  as  I  stand  here.  There's  scarce  hope  for  us. 

Gloomfay.     How  many  went  to  battle  ? 

Soldier.     Fifteen  millions. 

Gloomfay.     And  are  they  not  able  to  win  ? 

Soldier.     A  sort  of  stupid   sleepiness  seems  to  have  come 

over  us. 

Gloomfay.     Think  you  the  country  is  in  danger  ? 
Soldier.     Well,  in  sooth,  I  know  not.     But  if  his  highness 

should  do  something  extra,  we  should  fare  better. 

(Horns  sound.) 

Hark !     I  must  be  gone.  (Exeunt.) 

SCENE  4. — Before  the  tent  of  NIGHTSHADE.     Enter 
NIGHTSHADE  and  a  SOLDIER  of  Gloomland. 

Nightshade.     How  goes  the  war  ? 

Soldier.     Worse  and  worse,  my  lord. 

Nightshade.  Go,  thou,  fetch  me  the  black  flower  of 
the  phymarda,  that  grows  by  the  side  of  yon  hill, 
whose  power  can  change  the  form  into  any  shape  the 
user  chooseth,  provided  it  be  inflicted  on  another 
person.  (Exit  Soldier.)  Ha !  ha  !  ha  !  Thou  needst 
not  say,  "  worse  and  worse."  Thou  mayst  freely  say, 


i68  Uidor,  %  Jfang  of  Jfairg-^attb. 

"  better  and  better."  Fairies  always  were  such  un 
suspecting  creatures.  Fairy-Land  and  Summer- 
Land  shall  be  mine  before  long.  Fairy-Land  shall 
be  mine  before  the  day  is  out.  And  as  for  Summer- 
Land — why  the  Sylphids  are  too  lazy  to  fight  much. 
Ha !  ha  !  They  will  both  be  mine  soon.  Ha  !  ha  ! 
ha  !  ha  !  ha ! 

(Re-enter  SOLDIER  with  a  black  flower.) 
Aye,  there  it  is.     Give  it  me  quickly.       (Exeunt.) 

ACT  V. 

SCENE  1. — Fairy-Land.     In  the  palace  of  VICTOR. 
BLANCHE  and  ATTENDANTS. 

Blanche.  Alas,  he  comes  not !  It  is  past  the  hour  since 
he  did  promise.  Oh  !  the  bloody  war,  that  calls  the 
husbands  from  their  weeping  wives  !  I  fear  that  all 
not  right  is,  or  he'd  come. 

Attendant.     Cheer  up,  my  lady.     Look !  he  cometh  now  ! 

(Enter  VICTOR,  singing.) 

Victor.     Oh  !  where  can  be  my  loving  wife  ? 
Cheer  up,  my  joy,  my  light,  my  life  ! 
Cheer  up  my  Blanche !  good  news  I'm  bringing, 
The  battle  Fairy-Land  is  winning ! 


0ktor,  %  JHhtg  of  Jfairg-^anb.  169 

Blanche.     Ah  !  I  thought  thou  wouldst  never  come  ! 

(  They  embrace  each  other.) 
The  days  were  long  without  thee, 

The  days  were  sad  and  drear, 
From  worrying  about  thee 

And  wishing  thou  wert  here. 
Victor.     I  have  some  business,  dearest,  to  attend  to,  but 

will  soon  be  back.  (Exit.) 

Blanche  (to  attendant,)     Away  with  thee,  and  let  me  muse. 
Attendant.     "We  fear  that  harm  may  reach  thee  with  his 
long  and  powerful  arms,  from  which  none  can  escape. 
Blanche.     I  feel  no  danger.     Away  !  away  ! 

(Exeunt  ATTENDANTS.) 
Now  I  can  weep,  unheard  and  undisturbed. 

(Horrible  sounds.) 
Miter  NIGHTSHADE. 

Nightshade.     Come  with  me  !  I'll  take  care  of  you. 
Blanche.     I  pray  you  ! 

Nightshade.     No  loitering.     Here,  bear  her  away. 
(Enter  GLOOMFAYS,  who  bear  her  away.  Ha  !  ha  !  ha  !  ha  ! 
ha  !     Exit  leaving  a  stake  in  the  floor  with  a  sentence 
around  it.     In  a  few  moments  re-enter  VICTOR.) 
Victor.     What,   gone !      I    should    have    thought    thou 


i?0  $ittor,  %  Jirag  of  Jmrg-^Tanb. 

wouldst  have  stayed  for  me !  What  means  this  stake  ? 
(Heads — "  Nightshade  hath  Blanche  safe  /")  Oh ! 
woe  !  Why  stayed  I  not  with  her  ?  I  will  directly 
and  tell  Jerold.  (Exit.) 

SCENE  2. — fairy-Land.     In  the  palace  of  JEROLD. 

Enter  VICTOR. 
Victor.     Hither,  my  father,  directly.     Where  art? 

(Enter  a  little  yellow  dog.) 

What  meaneth  this  ?  I  called  my  father,  not  a  dog. 
But  here  is  a  collar  with  letters  on  it.  (Reads — "  / 
am  thy  father") 

What  does  this  mean  ?     Alas  I  do  but  dream  ! 
Dreamland,  release  me  from  thy  cruel  bonds. 
Dreams  once  were  pleasant,  now  they're  mean  to  me. 
I  will  to  Herold's  and  tell  what  I've  seen. 

(Exit.) 

SCENE  3. — Fairy-Land.  In  front  of  VICTOR'S  palace, 
near  the  steps.  Ugly  sounds.  Enter  NIGHTSHADE  with 
the  phymarda. 

Nightshade.     And  now  I'll  end  my  work  successfully, 
And  he  who  at  this  hour  calls  him  king, 
Shall  humbled  be  into  a  little  child — 
And  all  my  fays  shall  laugh  him  unto  scorn. 


$ixi0r,  %  Jlrag  of  Jfairg-JTanb.  171 

(He  smears  the  steps  with  the  flower,  and  dances  around 
them  to  hideous  sounds,  laughter,  and  moans.  Exit 
NIGHTSHADE  laughing.  Enter  VICTOR. 

Victor.     I've  traveled  round  from  palace  unto  hall, 

But  all  have  changed.     Among  my  subjects  dear 

There  is  not  one  who  has  not  changed  his  shape 

Into  some  beastly  form — some  cat  or  dog, 

Some  cow,  some  calf,  some  chicken,  or  some  horse ! 

What  will  become  of  us  ?     I  fain  would  die ! 

What  more  have  I  to  care  for  in  this  land  ? 

My  wife  is  stolen,  and  my  subjects  changed ! 

Alas  !  I've  nought  to  care  for  but  myself. 

Oh  !  for  my  happy,  unsuspecting  youth  ! 

Alas  !  how  proudly  won  I  my  fair  Blanche ! 

How  gaily  danced  I  on  the  rings  of  green ! 

Alas  !  those  happy  days  are  passed  for  me  ! 

Cold  Sorrow !  I'll  abide  upon  thy  breast ! 
(As  he  goes  up  the  steps  his  kingly  garments  fall  from  him, 
and  he  becomes  a  human  being.         Exeunt.) 


\Hs     t^-T-t^VYxTV 

o 


This  book  is  DUE  on  the  last 
date  stamped  below 


3m-8,'49(B5572)470 


PS  Robinson  - 

2719 A   child's  poems 
R5>66c     from  October  to 


™  A     000118267 


October, 
1871. 


WO 


PS 
2719 


